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“ She became marble, and listlessly watched him pour some fluid into 
a cup of water on the table.’ See page 108. 




The King’s Gallant 

OR 

King Henry III. and His Court 

("HE NR/ HI. ET S A CO UR") 

A NOV ELIZATION OF THE FAMOUS DRAMA 


BY 

ALEXANDRE DUMAS 

AUTHOR OF 

“d’aRTAGNAN, THE KING MAKER,” “THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO, ” 
“THE THREE MUSKETEERS,” ETC. 

Translated by Henry L. Williams 



NEW YORK 

STREET & SMITH 

PUBLISHERS 



THE LIBRARY «F 
GfcNGRESS, 

Two COMeS RECEIVE® 

MAY. 5 1902 

Co»»VRI«HT ENTRY 

|]W. 

CLASS CLsXXc. No. 

a. q ? 15 

COPY B. 


Copyright, 190a, 

By STREET & SMITH 


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CONTENTS. 



s~> 

i 


I — The Royal Favorites, 
\ II — Bussy of Amboise, 


III— The Third Henry, 

U- IV — A Rapid Ascent, . 

V — In the Role of Cupid, 

VI — Offering the Cup, 

VII — The “Uriah” Letter, 

VIII — Following the Bait, 

IX — In Smooth Waters, 

X — Forward to Love and Death, 

XI — The Decoy Dove, 

XII — Beleaguered, 

XIII — In the Snare, . 

XIV — Friend Instead of Foe, 

XV — The Man Who Sought Rest, 

XVI — “The Brave Crillon,” . 

XVII— For the King, . 

XVIII — The Stain on Castle Blois, 
XIX — By the King's Command, 



PREFACE. 


“The King’s Gallant” is deserving of recog- 
nition, in that it is not only a novelization of 
one of the earliest of Dumas’ plays, but it 
marked a distinct triumph in his career. 

When “Henri III. et sa Cour” first appeared, 
it was sneered at, then denounced ; but the great 
French dramatist believed in his work, and, 
after a season of storm and stress, it put to 
flight the purblind critics, crushing their fossil 
pleas for continuance of the long-winded and 
very mechanical speeches and labored action 
that were part and parcel of plays of the period. 

Instead of bewigged and thickly-powdered 
heroes, whose natural forms had never been 
seen by the profane, and whose movements 
were clogged by artificial trammels, these char- 
acters in the court of King Henry the Third be- 
came living beings in their vivid encompass- 


8 


PREFACE. 


ments: the Louvre Palace, the tragical halls of 
Blois Castle, the magician’s sinister study, the 
roaring wineshops, and the tortuous streets of 
Old Paris, crowded with “the Leaguers,” and 
beset by the Huguenots. 

Admittedly, the sybarite prince was a washed- 
out replica of his ancestors, like Francis the 
First, but he had interesting if not amiable 
traits: provoking wit, fine cunning, as well as 
sincere friendship for those who served him 
well. If called upon he could display courage 
not unworthy his Curled Darlings who could 
fight as well as dance. 

This makes it so marked to oppose him to 
the warrior prince, “Henry of the Scarface,” the 
terrifying Duke of Guise, as easy in his battered 
armor as they in their silken and feathered cos- 
tumes, though he could not domineer over them 
as over his age, haughty with racial pride, indo- 
lent with excessive bravery, grim in humor, un- 
scrupulous in carrying out wide and high- 


PREFACE. 9 

reaching aims. Fighting like Caesar, he made 
love — like Nero ! 

This was a tug of the Fox and the Bear, and 
its result is not flattering to either; but then the 
Bear should not have made an enemy of the 
Lion ! 

What a stirring age Dumas selected for his 
canvas! Statesmen could not repose; Cathe- 
rine de Medici, that Semiramis of Italy and 
France, mother of three kings in their turn, 
reigning all the time, in the background, 
shaping the course of kingdoms in Rome as in 
Savoy, in Madrid as in Brussels, and keeping 
poison bowl and dagger as busy as the bravo’s 
sword. 

Hence, “the gallants” were forced to form 
an impenetrable phalanx around their ener- 
vated king, like inextinguishable stars around 
a “dead” planet. 

This gives the zest to the variety among 
them: Joyeuse, verifying his name with his 
flowing fun; Epernon the prudent, striving to 


IO 


PREFACE. 


rise on others’ ruin; Bussy the over-bold, and 
St. Megrin, the heroic knight, who was made 
perfect by his passion becoming his sole 
motive. 

His tender, steady flame for the lovable, per- 
secuted princess, remote from her home and in 
a tyrannical power; his head fruitful in expe- 
dients, his hand as apt to attack as to defend, 
his heart bounding to avenge and chastise. He 
is an idol for those who have a cherished corner 
for a shrine worthy of such Scipios. 

If this work is full with the rushing sap of 
spring’s apple-trees, it is because Dumas was 
but a youth when he wrote it ; but a youth who, 
later on, made the delighted French proclaim 
him their “Wizard of Fiction.” 

Belonging to the Series of “The Lady of 
Monsoreau,” “Chicot the Jester,” and “The 
Forty-five,” Dumas evinces his versatility by 
never in a line repeating himself. Thus, “The 
King’s Gallant” is as the Benjamin of a family 
full of favorites. H. L. W. 


THE KING'S GALLANT. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE ROYAL FAVORITES. 

Of all the sluggard kings with whom France 
was burdened, none desired peace and quiet- 
ness more than King Henry III. Yet not only 
was his reign disturbed by civil wars, but his 
capital city was kept in a turmoil by dissensions 
among his chief nobles, who bitterly hated one 
another, and made little effort to hide their 
feelings. 

Among the most aspiring and least to be 
depended upon was the famous Henry “Scar- 
face,” the Duke of Guise, who headed the im- 
portant movement against the reformers 
known as the “Holy League.” 

In forming this party, to dethrone the king 
if need be, and take his place, Guise had ample 


12 


The Royal Favorites. 


to engage him. But he was ensnared by Cupid, 
and trammeled his political plans by choosing 
as the object of his love a princess from over 
the Rhine. 

This Princess of Potcian, daughter of the 
Duke of Cleves, was so unparalleled a beauty 
that her fame preceded her to Paris, where her 
godmother, Catherine de Medici, installed her. 
The gallants pressed around her until Scarface, 
her betrothed, compelled her to be put under a 
kind of restraint at Soissons House. 

In addition, he established a service of espial 
upon her, beginning more to fear a loss of her 
than of the crown which he coveted. 

As he sat in his study in Lorraine House, he 
presented much more of the warrior of that 
hard and cruel time than the court lover. 
Henry of Lorraine, Duke of Guise, surnamed 
“the Scarface ( Balafre ),” on account of a 
wound on his cheek, needed not this disfigure- 
ment to be soured with life at court, where 
good looks outweigh all moral traits. 


The Royal Favorites. 13 

Proud, haughty, ardent in sport and warfare, 
he donned with equal ease the still ponderous 
armor in vogue with knights inured to it from 
boyhood, or the most magnificent court attire. 
He could be agreeable enough, but as he felt 
his superiority to most of his political antagon- 
ists, he allowed his eyes to shoot out forbidding 
glances; he had in his campaigns so often cast 
dread that he delighted in suggesting what 
farther desolation lay in his power. The peers 
accounted him perfidious; those whom he had 
overthrown called him hard and cruel, and the 
lowly detested him. 

His cold and pitiless heart could not appre- 
ciate the bliss of human affection. 

It was in his study that his chief of confidence 
\ found him, and aroused him from gloomy medi- 
tation. 

“Well, Dumilatre?” questioned Scarface, his 
eyes brightening. 

“All is well in city and court, where the 
League continues to find adherents, and all the 


14 The Royal Favorites. 

new recruits call on your grace to precipitate 
action. In the great drama of pretending to a 
throne, my lord, action is the only means.” 

“What else? I have the move ready, and it 
now depends on the king aiding me or be- 
coming my obstacle ! In either case I am 
resolved. What else, I say?” 

The man hesitated. 

“It is concerning the Lady of Cleves,” said 
he. “The princess has been juggled with by 
the queen’s soothsayer ” 

“The queen’s soothsayer?” 

“Old Ruggieri, the Italian poisoner, who did 
the Queen Joan of Navarre to death. He is 
the queen’s familiar spirit. Who knows what 
demons prompted them to entangle the new- 
comer from Germany, innocent as the dove, in 
their devices?” 

“Entangle my bride-to-be!” cried the duke, 
playing with his dagger as he strode about the 
room. “Let them keep hands off. What have 
they done?” 


15 


The Royal Favorites. 

“Administered potions to her. From my re- 
lations with Lady Sauve, the princess’ chief 
lady, I learn that after putting her to sleep with 
a devil’s draught, they conveyed her into the 
magical chamber of Ruggieri. Here, to assist 
in their designs, they showed her to a court 
favorite, one of the king’s gallants, who has 
taken the place of Quelus, whom we killed by 
Antraguet’s sword.” 

“A happy thrust! This court gallant, for 
whom they make my affianced one a raree- 
show, who is he?” 

“He is the Count of St. Megrin, your grace.” 

“I scarcely know him.” 

“He is fresh from the country; but he is an 
accomplished swordsman, and the king en- 
gaged him as a favorite immediately on his 
trying his steel with the fencing masters.” 

“St. Megrin, eh?” 

The valet took out of his satchel a small, 
exquisitely-cut glass flask of smelling-salts. 
The duke frowned, for he the more easily rec- 


1 6 The Royal Favorites. 

ognized this scent-bottle, as it was his present 
to his bride-to-be. 

"It is the princess’ — and was found in Rug- 
gieri’s rooms,” said Dumilatre. 

The duke knitted his brows. 

"An accomplished swordsman,” he mused, 
"but a mere gentleman compared with me! A 
combat, man to man, is out of the question. 
Dumilatre, go, get me those murderers who 
killed Duguast because he offended Queen 
Marguerite of Navarre. I suppose you can 
find them?”" 

"In some pothouse; yes.” 

"They would even beset a king’s favorite?” 

"They would beset even Lucifer’s favorite, 
since they have had no employment of late, and 
hungry wolves respect no fleece !” 

"Good! This St. Megrin will not long fill 
Quelus’ place beside the sybarite prince!” 

Dumilatre bowed, and was at the door when 
the duke recalled him. 

"Let my gentleman-in-waiting prepare my 


The Royal Favorites. 17 

armor. I am going in full array to see the king 
about appointing the chief to the League.” 

He paused, and added, as if he desired Du- 
milatre to understand that he had not forgotten 
his tidings: 

“On my return I will visit the princess at 
Soissons House. There must be an explana- 
tion of these magical tricks. I am straightfor- 
ward myself, and do all things aboveboard !” 

Dumilatre smiled, bearing as he did a mes- 
sage to employ secret assassins, but went his 
way in silence. 

His lord, full of meditation, did not find the 
Louvre Palace gay. 

The shadow, streaked with red, of St. Bar- 
tholomew’s Eve, lowered upon it, and darkened 
every lobby and deep window recess. 

The courtiers took their cue from the king, 
who sought quiet, and even the young men, his 
associates, alternately, in fantastic pastimes 
and extravagant devotional acts, shared the 
general dullness. Add to this that scarlet and 


18 The Royal Favorites. 

purple were ranked as royal hues, and it can 
well be understood how monotony of the deco- 
rator’s palette marred the interior. The bright 
paintings of the debauched Italian school had 
been removed from the walls or draped over 
when the king was fitfully fastidious. 

The apartment called “Of the bath,” because 
it had contained a “Susannah by the Bath,” by 
Titian, was used as a secondary throne-room. 
There was no throne, but one end was slightly 
raised; upon this were placed two armchairs 
and several stools for the privileged to sit so 
near royalty. 

The courtiers, principally those called “the 
king’s gallants,” being young and light-hearted, 
were playing chess, cards, and cup-and-ball, 
which was then a fad of the hour. They were 
named Joyeuse, Epernon, Halde, St. Luc and 
St. Megrin, the latest addition to their choice 
circle. 

This Paul Stuart, Lord of St. Megrin, had 
the air of those angels with a sword which 


The Royal Favorites. 19 

Raphael tempered in copying them from 
Michael Angelo. His youth was so vigorous 
that he seemed five years more than twenty; 
his countenance was cherubic; his mustache 
was but down, and the blush on his cheek was 
pink and not red. 

He came of a long line of warriors. “Not an 
ecclesiastic among us,” had been his father’s 
boast at a time when more progress was made 
by the prelate than the statesman, so that the 
aspiring statesman often became a priest. 

He was graceful in every act, and yet all was 
so manly that he stood out like a stone man 
among wax effigies in the midst *of the Valois’ 
“gentle cutthroats.” 

A little melancholy, arising from his already 
looking seriously upon life, chastened the joy- 
ousness and impudence of his age. 

He had that reserve of indefinable but valu- 
able qualities found in captains of consequence, 
enabling them to save their company, if not 
themselves, in pressing situations. 


2o The Royal Favorites. 

He was a friend whom a companion could 
depend upon, a favorite who would not betray 
his monarch, and a captain who knew when to 
keep himself in the rear of his troops as well 
as to spring forward when the charge must be 
personally led. 

Among the animated crowd in the apartment, 
St. Megrin was perhaps the only person who 
did not deign to join in the game of cup-and- 
ball. 

“Bless us !” he cried, suddenly, amid this 
throng going and coming, and keeping the 
balls in the air until one was dizzy, “here is old 
Montprison !” 

“The master of the ceremonies !” 

“More like the master of the revels,” said 
Joyeuse, between peals of mirth. “Hang me in 
chains, but he is playing with cup-and-ball, 
too !” 

“One fool has made many,” said St. Megrin. 

“Oh, we are nowhere !” sighed St. Luc. “The 


21 


The Royal Favorites. 

old marquis is ambidexter — he is keeping the 
ball going, with one in each hand !” 

“Ha ! ha ! my tomtits !” chirruped the old 
whitebeard, in his cracked voice. “Methinks 
this is not so bad for a man of seventy !” 

“Excellent! We acknowledge that you take 
the palm! But I cry a truce!” and Joyeuse fell 
into the royal chair, gasping for breath. “Here, 
boy, is a franc of gold. I have not so heartily 
enjoyed myself since I was a stripling and rode 
my first horse !” 

“Now that you are composed,” said the Mar- 
quis of Montprison, “I can, perhaps, get in the 
news?” 

“Guise has fallen downstairs?” 

“That sneak, Antraguet, has fallen upstairs 
again ?” 

“By St. Denis, you were never more right, 
Halde !” returned the ancient gossip. “That 
smell-feast has entered into favor anew!” 

“That ram-scuttle! that traitor!” 


22 The Royal Favorites. 

“He is a traitor, for he holds with the Lor- 
rainers.” 

‘‘I do not doubt that,” went on the tattler, 
“for his reinstatement in grace is due to the 
interposition of the Duke of Guise. The king 
is doing everything to please him now.” 

“Because he may need him and his bullies,” 
said Epernon. 

“Yes,” said a soldierly-looking man, who was 
Captain Treigny, of the Queen’s Guards, “for 
it appears that the King of Navarre is out-of- 
doors in battle array, casque a-top and spurs 
a-pied, galloping up and down and to and fro 
in front of our lines !” 

“That beanpole of Navarre!” 

“A great breaker of chains and lances!” re- 
turned Treigny, with professional pride in a 
born warrior. 

“And is the Lorrainer to be the securer of 
our safety?” 

“The worst of it is,” remarked Joyeuse, wip- 
ing his brow with a perfumed handkerchief, 


The Royal Favorites. 23 

“we shall have to fight before the cool weather 
comes. Fight in the false summer of St. Mar- 
tin’s ! bah ! Imagine riding out on a horse big 
as an elephant, with a hundred and fifty pounds 
of hammered iron on one’s suffering frame, to 
come home brown as an Andalusian gipsy !” 

“And down there, where they have all weath- 
ers at once!” added St. Luc. “It will be a 
scurvy trick to play on you wit-crackers at 
court, to decoy you out to crack your ribs with 
a stroke of the pike, and not a merry jest !” 

“Ah, and since powder is made at home and 

no longer imported, every schoolboy carries a 

pouchful, so that a battle is no longer cuts and 

knocks, but singes and burns, a foretaste of 

purgatory! Why, I confess that I have more 

apprehension of a sunstroke than a sword- 

stroke ! Ah, if I had my way, I would have all 

the fighting done as Bussy of Amboise fought 

\ 

his last duel — by moonlight !” 

“Bussy ! Ah, there is the bear-master to pit 
against the Bear of Bearne!” said Epernon. 


24 The Royal Favorites. 

“He is, indeed, one who must fight in the cool 
of the evening, though even then he could not 
be said to fight in cold blood. Where is that 
champion of the throne?” 

“You know that he was banished?” 

“Oh, what does Bussy care for banishment?” 

“True, he refused to go, as usual.” 

“But, this time, look you, the King of Na- 
varre urged it on his brother the Valois, be- 
cause he made eyes at Queen Marguerite — as 
if we did not all do that ! He defied that Henry, 
too, but his patron, the Duke of Anjou, pre- 
vailed on his liegeman, which Bussy is, to obey. 
He did so for the novelty of the thing.” 

“He is in Anjou beside the duke, being ap- 
pointed his first gentleman-in-waiting,” said 
Montprison. 

“And very pretty cottage-burning, and way- 
laying, and crossing of swords and cudgels 
there is going on down there, where Bussy 
struts !” 


The Royal Favorites, 25 

“Good for the Guise, since it is one formid- 
able antagonist the less !” 

“Perhaps,” interrupted St. Megrin, grimly, 
“there has sprung up another in his vacancy!” 

No one perceived what he meant. 

“It is evident that there will be no peace this 
side of the Rhine and the Pyrenees until the 
Duke Henry is wed ” 

“Wed to that pretty dame out of Germany 
who is enveloped still with the fog, like Loreley 
of the Rhine?” 

“No, till Guise is wed to the rope-maker’s 
daughter !” 

All stared at St. Luc, who vulgarly put it 
that the great duke should be hanged. They 
did not yet talk of hanging princes. 

“Guise ! Guise !” loudly exclaimed St. Me- 
grin, with more warmth than the settled ani- 
mosity warranted. “Will we never cease being 
dinned with the Lorraine warcry? Let the 
chance come for us to thrust and cleave and — ” 
he snatched one of the pair of gloves he had 


2 6 The Royal Favorites. 

stuck in his belt, and hacked it furiously to 
shreds with his dagger. “There, by St. Paul 
of Bordeaux! I would hew all these petty 
princelets of Lorraine into scraps like that!” 

“Look out !” said Treigny, with contempt for 
such a boyish outbreak by a rustic noble fresh 
come to town. “The Scar-cheek carries a sword 
blessed by the Pope and welded out of meteor 
steel !” 

“If he had St. Michael’s blazing glaive, still 
would I vie with him !” said St. Megrin, to the 
general surprise. 

“Vive St. Megrin!” uttered Joyeuse, in the 
silence, “have with you ! I hate this domineer- 
ing black-brow as much as you.” 

“That is impossible. I would give my rank 
of count to feel his sword upon mine own for 
just five minutes ! But the chance will come — 
perchance — ” 

“Not for the want of praying; we all yearn 
for a rush at the Lorrainers !” 

Halde had prudently withdrawn into one of 


The Royal Favorites. 27 

the windows. They heard him call out in sur- 
prise. 

“Lo, he comes!” 

Many rushed to the casements. 

“Guise? The duke?” 

“No, no. Our friend, Bussy!” 

“Bussy of Amboise!” was the joyous and 
flattering cry which arose in the courtyard, 
and was taken up on the broad stairs and 
echoed in the anterooms. 


CHAPTER II. 


BUSSY OF AMBOISE. 

Few heroes returning from a victorious cam- 
paign had been so heralded under that historic 
roof. 

Who was Bussy of Amboise? 

The representative of the duelist consum- 
mate of the age, when the great wars had ab- 
sorbed all the fighting element and left only 
those rarities, courageous by temperament, 
who infringed all civil regulations and royal 
edicts by drawing swords and using them as 
well against the legal officers as the soldiers, 
the civil servants. It was the protest of one 
who would not be hampered by the devices of 
a bought peace, and who detested, moreover, 
“the war of entrenchments” which gunpowder 
had forced upon the generals. 

He was strongly built, but beautifully 


Bussy of Amboise. 29 

rounded ; athletic pursuits had so perfected him 
that he could have carried off all the prizes in 
an antique contest, and, as for weapons of his 
time, his prowess was that of a professor, not 
merely an adept. 

Englishmen called him “the matchless,” the 
Spaniards said he was “e vencidor no vencido,” 
that is, “the unvanquished victor,” and his 
brother nobles, as we have seen, thought him 
fit to pair off with the Duke of Guise. 

He wore a storm-cap, or helmet, composed 
of black leather, bound with brass. Otherwise, 
his dress was the court gallant’s, sumptuous 
and gay as compared with that which the king 
affected when in his mourning spells. He had a 
long sword, which almost touched the ground, 
though girded up. It was tied at the hilt with 
a preposterous knot of ribbons, which was a 
token of some admiring lady’s delight in his 
being her knight. 

He was reputed to be the cause of the King of 
Navarre’s jealousy of his wife, and he was also 


30 Bussy of Amboise. 

accounted one of the reasons why the monarch 
should seek the papal dispensation to annul the 
marriage vows. 

He walked in rather swaggeringly, under a 
perfect volley of cheers. 

‘‘Hail, our Bussy the Brave! — the adven- 
turer ! — the terror of his foes ! — the glory of his 
lord !” 

He bowed right and left, and touched his 
cap, which could not be easily removed. 

“Yes, yes, gentlemen!” said he, in a full, rich 
voice, “I may be all that, but I am more surely 
the hope of my friends ! I have returned 
among you.” 

“Good-day, luck-bringer !” 

“What, St. Megrin ! Have you been plucked 
at dice by coming to the court, as I urged 
upon you?” 

“Why did you not write to me out of the 
desert, as you promised?” asked our gallant. 

“Write in the stirrup? Oh, we have been 
ever on the move. Anjou is topsy-turvy with 


Bussy of Amboise. 31 

the Reformers displacing a thousand things 
that were thought settled. They agreed in 
each town that the church should be used 
alternately by both sorts of believers, and be- 
tween them they burnt it down, and now each 
party, armed to the teeth, attends service under 
the canopy of heaven, at the opposite ends of 
the town!” 

“So you were a hundred leagues off?” 

“Three days ago, I was so. But I have not 
traveled by oxen-post.” He looked down at his 
spurs and leather breeches and soft woolen 
hose. “I have had three goodish horses killed 
under me, by foundering. But here I am 
among my bottle-companions, after having 
rousing times with battle-companions.” 

“We feared,” said St. Luc, “that the King of 
Navarre had slain you.” 

“Harry, good soul? Oh, it was by my pres- 
sure on Lady Sauve that he escaped from this 
palace when he was locked up with my own 
lord.” 


32 Bussy of Amboise. 

“And have you pacified Antraguet? He 
wanted to kill you as a tidbit for dessert after 
Quelus.” 

“Oh, Balzac? Antraguet and I met on the 
same road — that of banishment from court 
favor — and we had a fellow-feeling which 
passed the sponge over our enmity. We did 
measure swords, but found them the same 
length to a T. So we walk daintily when we 
meet, as if on ‘foot-angles/ ” 

“The marquis says that Antraguet is re- 
stored to a hearing. Did the message of deliv- 
erance include you, Bussy ?” 

“No, Epernon; alas! no. But I must bear 
the Lady of Sauve the token of King Henry of 
Navarre’s gratitude for her connivance at his 
flight. Has the king forgiven her?” 

“Oh, he does not war upon women!” 

“Well, he will have all the war with men that 
he has the appetite for,” said Bussy, gravely. 
“They are getting into fighting trim in the 
south, and, this time, it will be action every 


Bussy of Amboise. 33 

day. I came back because — because I want to 
keep my hand in. Is there no street-fighting 
yet?" 

'‘The streets are dull as the church-walk." 

“No clash with the Guisards?" 

“We rub up against them," said Joyeuse, 
sadly, “but it is impossible to knock sparks out 
of a wet mop !" 

“I thought, as the king’s blight prevents me 
appearing as a principal, that I might scratch 
the rust off by being a second in an encounter." 

St. Megrin laid his hand on the gladiator’s 
arm, and, feeling the muscles significantly, said, 
in a deep voice : 

“If you do not quit us too soon, you may 
have that post!" 

“It is not in the king’s gift," sneered Bussy, 
to whom the weak Valois was antipathetic. 

“Have you had no single-handed combats in 
the dales and on the meads?" 

“Alas !’’ sighed the arch-Hector, “my renown 
was trumpeted before me, and spoilt all, like 


34 Bussy of Amboise. 

that flute player who played by order of the 
mayor before the classic hero. No one would 
pick up my glove. Nor,” added he, looking 
narrowly and puzzled at the remains of St. Me- 
grin’s dilapidated gauntlet, “insult me by kick- 
ing it to pieces.” 

No one gave him an explanation, for the 
assemblage was very mixed since Bussy had 
brought in a host, and followers of the House 
of Lorraine might be among them. 

“The swallow loved nature for making it 
most swift,” repeated Bussy, who was accom- 
plished in the poetry of the period, “but if it 
were less so, it could enter into more races.” 

“You have only to stay,” said the count, 
steadily, “for it may be your reputation is a red 
flag to the bull out of the east!” 

“So much the better!” exclaimed Bussy; “I 
am the man to lie perdu as long as the king is 
displeased, but I will come out at the mildest 
call to stand by you! So do not fail to accept 
any challenge for a fight where the second may 


Bussy of Amboise. 35 

also be dragged in. I have not had a quarrel 
once a week where I was. Luckily, when I was 
in a miserable state, my hand writhed up with 
cramps from non-use, up came our friend Pha- 
laire ” 

“The rabid Protestant !” 

“Oh, he is not rabid now. He is meek, if 
anything. We met three time — and a half — the 
half was when the city archers at Pau inter- 
rupted our strife. ,, 

“Did you fall out about a point of creed?” 

“Why, no; we fell out about a point of or- 
thography.” 

“Bussy and orthography? Ha, ha, ha!” 

“Yes; he maintained that a painter was right 
who put a dot between every word of a barber’s 
sign, while I offered my blade to my argument 
that it ought to be a cross, or ought to be 
naught.” 

“You are a wise pair! Who could have 
backed you in such a dispute?” 


36 Bussy of Amboise. 

“Who? Crillon, the ultra-brave, who was 
my supporter, though we differ in belief.” 

“How was it settled?” 

“The painter settled it, by agreeing that the 
gentlemen should both be served. For the 
future he would leave a blank between the 
words — neither cross to please the old church 
nor periods to please the new! Besides, the 
man of pigment said that he was paid by the let- 
ter, and not by the space between/ ” 

One of the gazers at the windows interrupted 
by calling out, in the proud tone of one who 
had made a great discovery : 

“Antraguet has had the breach filled up ! He 
is coming. I spy one of his men in his livery.” 

Those at the casements flattened their noses 
at the tiny panes; others craned their necks 
over their shoulders ; others still, stood on tip- 
toe to see over those in front. 

“What a whirligig it is!” commented Bussy, 
twirling his mustache much as a lion switches 
his tail in anticipation of prey approaching. 


Bussy of Amboise. 37 

“Who would have thought he could be seen 
here again, after his sending Quelus in morsels 
to his grave ?’ 

“Poh! the over-ruler has solicited his for- 
giveness, and obtained it,” said St. Luc. 

“The over-ruler? Who is over the ruler, in 
my absence? The old lady (the queen)?” 

“Bussy, it is the Duke of Guise, of course, 
never more mighty.” 

“Oh, yes ! And they call me a bully? I, who 
never 'solicit’ in his bull-baiting style! Ah, he 
is still more insolent and overbearing, our dear 
Lorraine, is he ? Oh, dove that I am, and raven 
that he is! Ah, but the white and the black 
feathers will fly and get mixed, you will see !” 

“To-day, red; to-morrow, white!” said St. 
Megrin, bitterly and with emphasis, in support 
of his brother-in-arms’ threat. 

Most of the swordsmen intimated by smiles 
and nods that they were opposed to this vic- 
tor’s return. 

“Gentlemen,” said Halde, “is it not written 


38 Bussy of Amboise. 

in ‘The Morality on Blasphemers’ : 'By our 
sharp and ready swording, we slay caitiffs and 
lording?’ ” 

"Let the king study that text,” said Joyeuse, 
"and when he preaches its inculcation, why, we 
will act upon it !” 

"It is Antraguet! It is Balzac! He enters 
the courtyard amid a swarm of his compeers !” 

"Oh, the king will not heed that uproar; he 
is deeply engaged in learning Latin.” 

"Latin?” repeated St. Megrin, "what need 
has he of a dead tongue to distress live gentle- 
men? He has only to say: 'This way, my 
nobles!’ to have a thousand swords fly out of 
the sheaths where mold is sticking them. In 
these breasts is the same spirit, albeit smoul- 
dering, which enflamed the victors of Jarnac 
and Moncontour, and these odoriferous gloves 
have not too far softened the hands that they 
cannot hold the blades of their sires firmly !” 

"God, excellent! to it, St. Megrin!” 


Bussy of Amboise. 39 

“Yes, it is easy to make pipes when reeds are 
handy,” Epernon jeered. 

'‘But not so easy to make the Guisards dance 
to ovtr piping,” said Joyeuse. 

“Hush, boy!” interposed the baron, holding 
up his hand, “for Antraguet is at the door!” 

But the pardoned desperado had too much 
sense to walk in among his enemies without 
testing the ground. He had halted in the ante- 
chamber to confer with the functionaries about 
the king’s mood. 

It was a much more important personage 
that the tumult was about. 

Epernon held up his hand, whispering: 

“Hush, my boy; here he is.” 

There was a ranging of armed men against 
the walls without. A rustle of cloth of gold 
and chains, a shuffling of fine shoes, and the 
doors were thrown open in both panels. This 
was a royal entrance, and a page stood in the 
opening and uttered the talismanic words : 

“Gentlemen, the king!” 



40 Bussy of Amboise. 

Bussy alone removed himself from the rush 
to catch the royal eye. He thought it wise to 
keep a little apart. He would for once be pru- 
dent, and only disclose himself if the monarch 
was in good humor. 

“I have played all my trumps,” muttered he. 
“Only the king-card can raise me out of the 
dumps.” 

The cry was repeated in various quarters: 
“The king!” and the courtiers began to practise 
bowing. 

In the thick of a glorious mass of color, 
metals, and laces, the King of France, and the 
queen-mother, entered the hall. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE THIRD HENRY. 

The king took his seat, and the pages ar- 
ranged his robes so that he should be at ease, 
for he was dainty as an invalid. 

Under an ornamental cap, rather than crown, 
for his sick head could not long endure the 
weight of the gem-laden circles, his long face 
seemed doubly pale; his eyes were lead-lined, 
and conveyed the idea that he slept at unusual 
hours, and badly, at that. 

He now and then plucked at his pointed 
beard, feebly grown, and redolent of pomade. 
His ruff was starched with the poor flour of 
the period, and, being yellow, not white, gave 
a cadaverous, green tinge to his artificially- 
ruddy complexion. 

His hands were truly feminine, and exag- 
geratedly long, as if, in cracking their knuckles, 


42 The Third Henry. 

which he did to contend with a tendency to 
cramp, he overstretched them. 

He was the last of the Valois, which had had 
its culminating point in Francis the First, and 
declined with Charles the Ninth, dying with 
him under the knife of the fanatic. 

Since he had reigned in Poland, he had shiv- 
ering fits like a delicate lady; he returned from 
that kingdom, to take his brother’s place on 
this throne, only four years anterior. 

He gracefully returned the salutations of the 
glittering assemblage. It was even larger than 
commonly, as the news of Antraguet’s return, 
after exile, and the belief that the Duke of 
Guise had a strong card to play, which the 
monarch hardly dared trump, set all teeth on 
edge. 

“Greeting, nobles and gentlemen!” said he, 
in his sweet, lingering voice. “Villequier,” said 
he, dropping his voice, “see if the tailor has 
brought me my new riding suit. Page, run to 
our queen, and let her know that I shall call in 


The Third Henry. 43 

at her roolns, after this audience, for I am wish- 
ful to fix the date for our pilgrimage to Our 
Lady of Chartres, where we have a special 
prayer to offer; and, mark!” raising his voice, 
penetrating, though seldom forcible, “all are 
welcome who accompany us on that holy er- 
rand.” 

With the audacity of a pet page, St. Megrin, 
leaning on the arm of a reserved chair, lifted up 
his voice, saying : 

“Please your majesty, what if you were to 
command a campaign into Anjou, in lieu of 
ordering a journey to the shrine of Chartres?” 

“Ha !” ejaculated the old queen and her son 
at the same time, at this bold suggestion. 

“Yea, into Anjou,” repeated the favorite, 
with stress on each telling word. “If your fol- 
lowers wear steel jackets and iron caps, in- 
stead of ashes and sackcloth, and carry naked 
steel, instead of sputtering candles, your maj- 
esty will not lack for penitents ; and your 
majesty will see the Count of St. Megrin in the 


44 The Third Henry. 

foremost rank, though he had to make the rest 
of the road on bare feet over burning coals!” 

There was a buzz of approval among the ir- 
reverent. 

Henry half-closed his eyes to concentrate 
the rays as he glanced around. He eyed all the 
faces, as if he were willing to howl with the 
wolves, but wished to make sure that they were 
in the majority, as compared with the sheep. 
Then, coughing drily, he replied, as mildly as 
ever : 

“There is a time for all things ; let them take 
their turn. As soon as needs press, we are not 
going to lag — never fear, boy! But, at the 
present speaking, thank goodness ! our fair 
realm of France is at peace.” 

Several composed countenances became 
drawn awry, for the intelligence that the rebels, 
under King Henry of Navarre, were mustering 
in numbers, as if, at least, to counterbalance the 

jf ■* 

gathering of the Holy Leaguers, was diffused 
widely. 


The Third Henry. 45 

“We do not want for leisure” — he dwelt 
upon the word, very dear to him, for of all the 
sluggish monarchs it was he who most often 
had his lulls broken into — “leisure for our de- 
votions.” 

As if only then he perceived Bussy among 
the faces at the back, though noticed at the 
start, he exclaimed, with well-pretended sur- 
prise : 

“What do I see? the Lord of Bussy again at 
my court?” 

Bussy swerved on his hot feet, not knowing 
whether to advance or retire, when the queen- 
mother spared him an anxious moment by giv- 
ing him a smile, and saying, for him to over- 
hear and prepare his answer : 

“Nay, no doubt your brother Francis hast 
sent him with news sweet to your heart and 
mine, his mother’s.” 

Henry imitated her smile, therefore, and 
said, pleasantly: 

“So you have been wool-gathering out there 


46 The Third Henry. 

in the meadows. Ah, methinks you have spun 
little by it!” alluding to the steel cap, which 
showed some dents and grazes. 

“I have left a lock or two on the briars,” 
mumbled he. 

But the king had turned to his mother. 

“If your well-beloved son,” said he, genially, 
but it covered a sting, “had been a submissive 
brother to me, and a respectful subject to his 
king, he had no need to be a fugitive from this 
court.” 

She lowered her eyes, to prevent him seeing 
a savage gleam, and replied, with suavity: 

“Perhaps he comes with his respect and sub- 
mission?” looking at Bussy to give him the cue. 

“Well, we are about to know that — or some- 
thing. Keep your seat, mother. You may 
come near, Lord Bussy! Where did you leave 
our brother?” 

“In town, my liege.” 

“The dev — he has been in our good city of 
Paris?” and this time it was true surprise. 


The Third Henry. 47 

Others in the surroundings felt, and some 
expressed, the same feeling. 

The French had not attained the barbarism 
of Turkish politics, by which, on ascending the 
throne, all kin near the sovereign are deprived 
of life or sight, in order not to be such con- 
tinuous menaces as younger brothers were to 
Francis, Charles, and Henry. 

“He only spent the night here,” quickly con- 
tinued Bussy. 

“Merely passing through?” went on the 
questioner, jestingly. “Going home again?” 

“Oh, no, continuing his route — to Flanders.” 

“You hear this, mother?” said Henry. “It 
looks to me as if our family will include ere 
long a Duke of Brabant. But, still, sir, how 
comes it that he skimmed by us, without stop- 
ping in to present his homage of fidelity to his 
elder and his monarch?” 

The messenger did not want for temerity, 
but he shrank from giving reasons for his mas- 
ter’s erratic actions. 


48 


. The Third Henry. 

“Faith, sire! he knows how dearly your maj- 
esty loves his brother, and he foresaw that, 
once under your hospitable roof, you would not 
let him go forth as easily as he departed the 
last time.” 

Alengon — for Francis of Anjou acquired the 
latter title from his brother Henry, on his hav- 
ing to relinquish it on becoming King of Po- 
land, dignity excluding his retention of foreign 
appanages — Alenqon- Anjou had been actually 
imprisoned in the Louvre with the King of Na- 
varre. 

“You are, my old Bussy, a blunt speaker,” 
said the king, relaxing, for, timid himself, he 
admired such fearlessness, “and you do not 
‘cut* your wine with water ! But you are right ; 
that is, he is right.” He made the grimace of a 
terrier which had let a rat escape from over- 
confidence. “But in the North he will be ex- 
posed to danger. At the moment, he must 
long for the presence of his good servitor and 
his best sword ” 


The Third Henry. 49 

Bussy bowed, but forefelt that the wind was 
about to whisk round unfavorably. 

“He may need them both, to be used against 
us ” 

“As I hope to live, no, no, sire !” 

“Nevertheless,” persisted Henry, though the 
energy of the denial stirred him, “you should 
arrange to leave us as soon as possible, and join 
him quickly!” 

Bussy bit his lip and stepped back, his dis- 
comfiture intensified by seeing a gentleman in 
the Balzac-Entragues livery go by toward the 
king’s chamberlain to present his master's 
name. 

“There, there, what is it?” testily asked the 
king, scratched by his ruff, and plucking at it. 

“My son,” said the queen, as she saw the 
official hesitate, “that play-devil, Antraguet, is 
taking full advantage of the permission you 
voluntarily accorded him to reappear in your 
desirable presence.” 

“Ay ay, 'voluntarily’ — hum!” repeated the 


50 The Third Henry. 

king, crisping up his somewhat drooping lip. 
“The murderer of my minions! of Quelus, the 
Incomparable! But living pearl is worth dead 
gold!” sighed he, seeing that he was watched 
to note how he bore this imposition from the 
Lorraine faction. 

It was pressing him with a great sacrifice, 
that was manifest; but he clasped his hands, 
and mumbled a prayer of contrition. 

“Speak, sir!” said he to the messenger from 
the offending courtier. 

“I have the honor,” began the gentleman, 
uneasy as a bee in a strange hive, “to say that 
Charles Balzac of Entragues, Baron of Dunes, 
Count of Graville, formerly lord lieutenant 
for the Government of Orleans, begs to de- 
posit at your majesty’s feet the homage of his 
respect and fidelity.” 

“Hem! I suppose,” said the king, to his 
mother, “that we must be thankful that this 
firebrand slides in at the doorway, instead of 
hurling himself in at the window?” Aloud, 


51 


The Third Henry. 

he answered: “We will presently receive our 
faithful and respectful servitor. But let me, 
beforehand, divest myself of all that might re- 
mind me of that shocking combat, hand-to- 
hand.” He rose. He beckoned to Joyeuse, 
who, with others of the select, had drawn near, 
as if to fall upon the envoy. “Here, my dear 
boy,” taking from around his neck a sachet 
highly perfumed, and extracting some tokens, 
“here is a keepsake, indeed — Quelus’ earrings ! 
Wear them in memory of our departed friend.” 

Epernon followed Joyeuse at a similar beck- 
oning. 

To him he gave a gold chain of exquisite 
work, due to the “Unknown Pupil of Cellini;” 
and to St. Megrin, whose contempt for trinkets 
he already knew, a sword, which a groom of 
the chambers brought him, having it in readi- 
ness. 

“This is the sword of Schomberg,” explained 
he, with rare feeling; “it was heavy for a hand 
of eighteen years only! May it be better de- 


52 The Third Henry., 

fended on the next occasion like that! Now, 
gentlemen,” he resumed, quickly, to cut short 
their thanks, ‘dike me, do not forget them in 
your prayers. Mine ever is: 

“ ‘Schomberg, Maugiron, and brave Quelus, 
may they rest free from what assail us!’ Re- 
main near us, but be seated/’ 

He gave this direction in order that their 
attitude should be less menacing, for his remi- 
niscence had spurred them all. 

He made a sign to the ushers and the master 
of the ceremonies, who proceeded to let the 
suppliant in. 

“If they honor the Butcher’s man with such 
pomp, what will they do for the Butcher?” mut- 
tered Joyeuse to his neighbor. 

There was a deep silence as the Baron of 
Dunes marched in, very martial in bearing, for 
many a man entered a lion’s den with less cause 
for dismay. 

On seeing his favorites’ slayer, the king in- 
haled smelling-salts like a woman. 


The Third Henry. 53 

If Antraguet perceived this incident, he did 
not show his contempt, for he knew that the 
scratch of this tiger-cat was fatal as that from 
a royal tiger’s massive paw. 

Although attired with splendor, the baron 
had his hair and beard cut and trimmed for 
wearing the close iron helm. He had let his 
boots fall, but they wore not the golden spurs, 
but steel ones, with immense Spanish rowels, 
such as became a horseman whose steed might 
alone save the master in a race for life. His 
sunburnt visage and undimmed eyes, spoke of 
the warrior who would prefer his exploits 
should be on the tented field, and not on the 
duelling-ground. 

With a hand on his hip, beside his war- 
sword, he bore the scrutiny and the taunting 
looks of the minions, handsomely; but in his 
heart he quailed at the glances of the queen- 
mother. He was well cognizant of her hate for 
the Guises, and that he had been regarded, dur- 
ing the halcyon days of his enjoying the king’s 


54 The Third Henry. 

errant favor, as most active in preventing her 
swaying him into repulsing the duke and his 
brother. 

It is needless to say, perhaps, that her hatred 
was “curdled affection,” for she, the queen, 
had been very friendly with the old Cardinal of 
Lorraine. 

Henry watched his enemy approach, and, as 
he wavered, made him an imperative sign to 
bend the knee, so that there could be no doubt 
about the obeisance. 

“Charles Balzac of Entragues,” spoke he, 
“we grant you the favor of our royal presence, 
in order that we may, in the midst of our court, 
restore you, in the place where they were re- 
moved from you, your titles and dignities. 
Rise, Baron of Dunes, Count of Graville, and 
Governor-General of Orleans, and retake be- 
side our royal person the functions which you 
heretofore fulfilled. Rise!” reiterated he, for 
the noble remained kneeling. 

“Nay, sire,” explained he, “I should not rise 


55 


The Third Henry. 

yet, nor until your majesty publicly acknowl- 
edges that my conduct in that fatal duel was 
becoming a fair and honorable gentleman.” 

This was rubbing salt, if not poison, into the 
raw, but Henry, with all his faults, knew when 
to bow to the inevitable. 

He did it with grace, too. 

“Verily, we will acknowledge that much,” 
said he, “though your words are mortal as your 
sword, for it is God’s truth ! Ah, but they were 
terribly painful wounds you dealt!” 

Seldom had the speaker been seen to wince 
under such piercing anguish. 

“Why, he loved them!” muttered Epernon, 
amazed. 

“Enough to avenge?” questioned St. Me- 
grin, in a whisper. 

But the baron would not reply in any way. 
The other clutched the gift sword by the hilt as 
if, like a certain fabled one, it imprisoned a 
demon, and could answer by its voice. - 

“Would your majesty, therefore, deign me 


The Third Henry. 


5 6 

your hand to kiss as gage of pardon and for- 
getfulness ?” continued Entragues, as though 
pursuing a set formality. 

The king shrank back in the high back of 
his seat. 

“Forget it? Heaven! no, you must not 
crave that, sir!” 

The old queen saw his favorite’s eyes flash. 

“What was agreed?” whispered she, nerv- 
ously. 

“Well, no,” returned he, slowly, “I — I may 
pardon him, as a good Christian should — but 
forget ! never will I forget it all my life.” 

Entragues rose at last, reluctantly saying: 

“Sire, I appeal to time to come to my relief. 
Mayhappen, my submissiveness and my fidelity 
will finish with allaying your grace’s wrath.” 

“It is possible. But — your government has 
need of your presence! It has been too long 
deprived of your services, and my subjects may 
suffer in consequence.” 

The noble frowned at the rebuke. 


57 


The Third Henry. 

Fortunately, attention was called off him by 
a salvo of firearms in the streets, and an im- 
mense cheer rolled out of the St. Honore way, 
up to the palace gates, where the mob re- 
echoed it to the deepest note. 

“What is that din in the face of the town?” 
inquired the king, apprehensive. 

“It is,” replied Epernon, guessing without 
looking out of the window, “the Duke of Guise 
leading the dance !” 

“Oh, is he escorted by the rabble?” said the 
king. 

He nodded to Captain Solern, of the arque- 
busiers, and to Testu, knight of the palace 
watch, who immediately quitted the hall to pro- 
tect the entrances. 

“Suppose I set the measure here? Our dear 
cousin of Lorraine does not, it appears, profit 
by the privilege of sovereign princes to enter 
our court unannounced ! Always his atten- 
dants make turbulence enough for his arrival 
not to be a mystery.” 


58 The Third Henry. 

“Only such ‘mysteries/ ” observed Joyeuse, 
“as the olden ones where the noise was thick 
about the devil.” 

St. Megrin bent forward so that he could 
speak almost into the royal ear: 

“He acts toward your majesty like one power 
to a like power. Like you, he has his sub- 
jects, and I dare say that he will come before- 
fore you, armed to the teeth, to present a hum- 
ble request !” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A RAPID ASCENT. 

The assemblage became very compact, for a 
crowd of splendidly-appareled gentlemen and 
pages preceded the master and pressed back 
the royal servants. The nucleus of this inrush 
was the Henry who annoyed his namesake as 
much — because nearer at hand — as the other 
of Navarre. 

St. Megrin had hit the center in his jest. 
The Duke of Guise was in full war harness. 
But his casque — a masterpiece of the armorer’s 
art, chiseled and inlaid, and flourishing two or 
three immense plumes — was carried by a page ; 
another held his truncheon as a general com- 
manding in chief ; and four more brought up the 
rear with their little daggers thrust naked in 
their belts. He was so lustrous in the shining 
steel that he eclipsed the most brilliant of the 
fops in gold. 


6o A Rapid Ascent, 

His face glowed from satisfaction at the way 
he had been acclaimed in his almost triumphal 
passage, but it was marred by the famous scar, 
which looked livid. From his shoulders de- 
pended a magnificent mantle, not lined, but 
showing one self-color, yellow as gold and 
with the sheen of silk, being “the prince’s 
color.” On this cuirass striped several ribbons 
of knighthood orders — black for St. Michael, 
red for St. Louis’, and a local decoration, his 
by birthright. 

Even St. Megrin could not deny that the 
people had chosen a patrician, and that this was 
the most kinglike personage in the apartment. 

The king had donned his most inviting smile, 
as had also the queen-mother. A wise man 
would have preferred a less effusive reception. 

“Come, my lord duke,” said the sovereign. 
“One who heard the approach of your fore- 
runners and who divined you from afar, said 
that he offered to wager that you came still 


A Rapid Ascent. 6l 

again on behalf of my people, to have abuses 
reformed, or a tax struck off?” 

“Let the tongues wag!” muttered the duke. 

“My people are a happy people to possess in 
my bold cousin so indefatigable a representa- 
tive and in me so patient a ruler!” 

Guise had not crooked the knee; his bend of 
the head might be excused by the gorget, but 
it was scarcely perceptible. 

“It is true that your majesty does accord me 
boons. And I am proud of being the interme- 
diary between the lord and his lieges !” 

The provost of the merchants and three or 
four sheriffs who had accompanied out of the 
city, applauded him with a murmur. 

“This is the falcon playing the go-between of 
the hunter and the game,” remarked St. Me- 
grin. 

“But this day that is,” went on the duke, “a 
more powerful motive still brings me before 
your majesty, for it is presented both in your 
interest and the people’s.” 


62 A Rapid Ascent. 

There were some lowering looks, for most 
courtiers spoke less widely of the bounty ema- 
nating from the crown. “The people” was no 
watchword in the prince’s mouth. 

Henry gnawed his nails with some im- 
patience. He foresaw that the business was 
serious, and he fretted at anything which long 
claimed his attention. 

“If the matter be so serious, you cannot wait, 
I fear me, until the assembly of the Estates of 
Blois, which is at hand?” 

Guise looked questioningly at the civic digni- 
taries, who urged him on. 

“Thither the three classes will have deputies, 
who, at least, have duly received the commis- 
sion to speak to me in the name of their man- 
datories.” 

This implied censure on the foreign prince 
who volunteered to meddle with home affairs 
did not check the duke. 

“Your majesty knows that this meeting is 
merely to pass settled business, and will dissolve 


A Rapid Ascent. 6) 

instanter, not to meet anew until November. 
When the danger is pressing, it seems to me, 
and others, that a Privy Council should be 
called.” 

“Hang it! look at him calling out the Privy 
Council!” said St. Luc, in an undertone. 

“Oh, if there be danger, and if the said dan- 
ger be pressing,” said the sybarite prince, like 
one aroused, “you truly alarm us, my lord of 
Guise.” He looked around with the growing 
smile of a player who saw more and clearly how 
to meet a dangerous move. “Well, I declare! 
All the usual members of the royal councils are 
in the presence.” 

His cluster of favorites smiled with him. 

If they could not often applaud his bravery, 
they could his wit, with good grounds. 

“You may, therefore, speak out, my lord 
duke ! Speak !” 

The queen rose statelily. She perceived 
that the tide was rising, and she never waded 


64 A Rapid Ascent. 

when she could induce some one to carry her 
over a flood. 

“In the case of debate in the council,” said 
she, “I beg to withdraw!” 

“No, mother, no,” said Henry, not cheated 
by her unusual modesty, and reasoning that her 
assistance was better than none, “the duke 
knows that we never keep back anything from 
our august mother, and that in more than one 
important matter her advice has been of the ut- 
most utility.” 

Guise ceremoniously bowed to the queen, 
who wished to avoid committing herself, though 
the proceeding was cut and dried. 

“Sire,” resumed he, “the step I am empow- 
ered to take is bold — perhaps too bold — but to 
hesitate any longer would not be the proper act 
of a good and loyal subject.” 

“To the facts, duke, to them,” said the king, 
growing impatient. 

“Sire,” went on the other, who had never 
made a longer speech than this which he had 


A Rapid Ascent. 65 

rehearsed, “immense but compulsory expenses 
have exhausted the state treasury — necessary, 
of course, since your majesty approved them.” 

“I approved the outlay, but not the spillage 
and pillage,” commented the king, perking up 
as if an economical monarch like King Henry 
of Navarre. 

“With the aid of faithful subjects your majesty 
has found the means of keeping the stream 
aflow. But this cannot run on forever.” 

“The deluge only lasted forty days,” re- 
marked the monarch. “The Pope’s approba- 
tion had to be obtained to permit the alienation 
of two hundred thousand livres’ income from 
the clerical property.” 

“It was like drawing a back tooth,” still inter- 
polated the hearer. “Parliament allowed a 
loan for expelling from the kingdom all foreign 
men-of-war ” 

“They would have starved here, while now 
they are fattening at the expense of Spain.” 


66 


A Rapid Ascent. 

“The crown diamonds ” proceeded Guise, 

without letting the criticism embarrass him. 

“Lord! will not he let the crown diamonds 
alone ?” 

“They have been pledged to Duke Casimir.” 

“This man was born to be a trader. I wager 
that he knows the amount and the interest,” 
said the king, under his breath. 

“For three millions as security.” 

“He did know it.” 

“The sums intended for the city hall have 
been used otherwise, and the General Assembly 
of the Estates had the audacity to reply with a 
refusal, when your majesty offered to pledge 
the royal domains for a loan !” 

“Yes, yes, I own that the finances are in a de- 
plorable condition. As the old wives say : 
‘Begin in gain, in straw be lain/ We, cradled 
in fine linen, will sleep on a truss of hay. 
Money is not so much the root of evil as of 
scarcity. But we must change the manager of 
the treasury ! Do you know of a sure man ?” 


A Rapid Ascent. 67 

“In peaceable times, any manipulation may 
postpone the evil, but your majesty is now con- 
strained to embark in war.” 

“War? The bolt is shot!” moaned the king, 
as if overwhelmed. 

War was his bugbear. This approaching 
struggle would be the sixth or seventh civil 
strife which had fatigued Henry, without its be- 
ing utterly suppressed. Of all the many ener- 
vated rulers of France, he most heartily longed 
for inertia, and lo ! as if in anticipatory punish- 
ment for his odd defects, his reign was the most 
convulsed. 

Guise, as if quoting documents, presented a 
a long series of horrifying facts apd surmises. 

Encouraged by the indulgence of the king, 
the Huguenots had made dreadful progress — 
one general had taken one province, one, an- 
other; Conde was master of Dijon. Gascony 
and its neighbors were in revolt. Taking ad- 
vantage of these dissensions, the Spanish had 
burst into Agen, where hundreds of housels 


68 A Rapid Ascent. 

were burning over the corpses of thousands of 
citizens, put to the sword. 

Henry sprang up at the end of the recital. 

‘‘As there is a living King of kings !” said he, 
“this being true, we must chase the Huguenots 
out of the kingdom and the foreigner back into 
his own. We do not fear war, my fine cousin, 
for we have not shot off all our powder! If 
these devils drive, we will go to the tomb of St. 
Louis and snatch up his sword, to march at the 
head of our brave army with the old, victorious 
warcry of ‘Montjoie St. Denis!’ ” 

A loud burst of enthusiasm hailed this speech, 
which destroyed etiquette. 

St. Megrin took advantage of this suspension 
of the rules to say, as one man to another : 

“If it is that beastly money which is lacking, 
your nobility will return what, after all, flowed 
out of the royal bounty ! Our lands, jewels, and 
bars in the chest can be turned into coin, my 
lord duke! and, with God our aid, by melting 
down the gold thread in our robes and the trin- 


A Rapid Ascent 69 

kets of our ladies, we can keep the air full of 
silver and gold bullets!” 

“Do you hear that, my lord?” said Henry, 
without disapproving the young man thrusting 
himself forward as spokesman. 

Guise looked furiously at him. 

“I hear, sire. But before the idea came to 
the Count of St. Megrin, thirty thousand of 
your brave subjects felt it their duty. They 
have pledged themselves in black and white, 
under the cross, to supply the treasury with 
gold and the army with men. That is the aim 
of the Holy League, and it will act up to it when 
the moment sounds. But I cannot hide from 
your majesty the fears felt by his faithful sub- 
jects, while seeing that this great association is 
still not openly recognized.” 

He had come to the end of his address, and 
those who best knew the king doubted that he 
could answer him commendably, prologue, 
speech and peroration, as the scholars say. 

“What should be done to quell such fears?” 


70 A Rapid Ascent. 

asked the monarch, with the finest innocence 
imaginable. 

The duke, falling into the trap, could not 
conceal the satisfaction with which he pointed 
to the field marshal’s baton on the cushion, with 
which the bearer advanced. 

“You have but to appoint the chief, sire — one 
of a great sovereign house, worthy of his con- 
fidence and trust by his birth and courage, and 
one who has, above all, afforded proofs of his 
being a good son of the church — in order to 
calm the zealous as to his behavior under trying 
circumstances ” 

This was plain talking, with a vengeance. 

“My lord, I see that your warmth for our 
royal person is such that you would spare us the 
trouble to seek very far for this chief. But” — 
here he glanced one of those sly looks at his 
mother, fully capable of appreciating this dou- 
ble-dealing, which he shared now and then with 
her — “but we will consider all this at leisure — 
at long leisure — my dear cousin !” 


A Rapid Ascent. 71 

“Yet if your majesty would appoint in the in- 
terim ” 

Guise felt as if he had caught an eel, instead 
cf a serpent, but unfortunately, eel or serpent, it 
was slipping out of his hold. 

The hearer masked a yawn with his dainty 
hand, and, lounging in his chair, replied in a 
tired voice : 

“My lord the duke, when we yearn to hear 
sermons we will appoint a Huguenot to retail 
them to us. Gentlemen, methinks this is quite 
enough time to devote to affairs of state, and 
we should think a little of recreation.” 

All faces of the court brightened and broad- 
ened. 

“Let me see! that masked ball was for this 
night, by a happy chance. It will take the 
taste out of the mouth of gunpowder and the 
torch — the dance music. I trust that you, my 
cousin, and the ladies of your house will em- 
bellish the gala.” 

Guise scowled with such a strong muscular 


72 A Rapid Ascent. 

twinge that his scar turned scarlet, and it 
seemed that the old wound had broken out 
afresh. But the hue darkened into crimson as 
St. Megrin, not a jot daunted by the importance 
of his butt, thrust out his finger almost to rap 
on the gleaming corslet and said, sarcastically : 

“Your majesty may see that his highness, the 
duke, is already in a fancy dress — that of a 
knight-errant.” 

“The knight-errants were redressers of 
wrongs,” replied the insulted noble, haughtily. 

“Troth! this attire, my dear cousin,” said the 
king, approving of his gadfly by using a sim- 
ilarly biting tone, “strikes me as rather heavy 
and warm for summertide.” 

“If he wore so much pride on his sleeve any 
longer, it would freeze in winter,” said Joyeuse, 
anxious to shoot his arrow in. 

“These are times, sire,” answered the baited 
one, but addressing himself markedly only to 
the principal in the badgering, “when a steel 
coat is preferable to a silken one,” 


73 


A Rapid Ascent. 

“Silk in your ears,” returned St. Megrin, a 
little hurt at not being retorted to directly, “for 
your highness may hear another bullet whistle 
by them.” 

“When bullets reach me as I face them,” re- 
plied the duke, proudly touching his scar, “here 
shows proof that I do not turn my head to avoid 
them.” 

Joyeuse picked up his air cane, which he had 
discarded for the cup-and-ball, and began to 
load it. 

“We will see how you stand this pellet mak- 
ing a thoroughfare through your pouting 
chest,” muttered he. 

St. Megrin took the toy out of his hand, and 
they thought that he had disapproved of the 
boyish sport. But he leveled it at the mark and 
saying: “Wait! It shall not be said that an- 
other than I had the experience !” discharged a 
sugar plum at the breastplate, on which it rang 
before bounding off. “The repl> is to you, 
now, my lord!” 


74 A Rapid Ascent. 

The minions clapped hands. Others turned 
pale. The sheriffs gathered up their robes as if 
to run out. The duke put his hand to his dag- 
ger, and the captains of the guards and the con- 
stable darted forward to prevent the weapon be- 
ing drawn. 

“Perdition! am I to be toyed with by that 
glover’s forket?” 

So growled the duke, shaking off the hand a 
courtier laid on his sword arm. 

“What are you going to do?” whispered one 
of his men. “Puff! to a sugar plum.” 

“Ha! you stagger under it,” cried Henry, de- 
lighted as his forefathers at a tourney where 
horse and man were borne down by a charging 
chevalier. “Why, cousin of Guise, I should 
have believed that pretty piece of Milanese mil- 
linery were proof to a candy ball!” 

The cue was to laugh, and the laugh ran 
round. 

Guise quivered with the effort to repress an 
outbreak. 


75 


A Rapid Ascent 

“Oh, you join in, sire?” he reproached. 
“Let them render thanks that we stand in your 
presence !” 

He snapped his partly-drawn dagger of 
mercy into its sheath. 

“Oh, let that stand apart,” interposed Heniy, 
quickly, as if events had turned exactly as he 
hoped, but dared not believe in. “Let our dig- 
nity rest. Act, my lord, precisely as if we were 
not by.” 

This was a terrible speech. From the mouth 
of a King Edward II. it would have been 
death to this Mortimer on the spot. Or, at the 
least, the favorites would have fallen upon the 
Lorraine’s train, but the latter conjectured that 
he had lost his opportunity, and that he should 
have come in stronger force. But he could not 
let this slight pass, since it was abetted by the 
king. 

“Would your grace permit me to stoop to 
this wait bait?” 

“Oh, nay, my lord! But” — he made one of 


76 A Rapid Ascent. 

those pauses with which, like an actor, he pre- 
ceded his jests — “but I can lift him up to your 
level.” 

All held their breaths. St. Megrin’s rash, 
puerile deed had brought about an event which, 
with the tang of unexpectedness, had savor of 
its own in its object. 

“It seems to me, lord chancellor, that in our 
broad dominion of France we can find some fief 
to endow upon our faithful Count of St. 
Megrin?” 

“You are the master, sire, to endow or to be- 
reave. But, in the meantime ” 

“Stay, duke, and see it out. We are not go- 
ing to keep you waiting. Count Paul Stuart, 
we create you Marquis of Caussade !” 

“But this is a duke, sire,” said the chancellor. 

“Count Paul Stuart, Marquis of Caussade,” 
continued the king, fluently, “we make you 
Duke of St. Megrin !” 

“Whew!” said Joyeuse, shaking his head, “to 


A Rapid Ascent. 77 

think that my shot might have brought down 
this beautiful brace of titles !” 

“Fortune is hard to mount,” observed Bussy, 
looking wide-eyed at the country noble so soon 
achieving this altitude, “but it is easy to ride.” 

“Now, my lord of Guise,” said Henry, tran- 
quilly, as if he had arranged preliminaries like 
a king-at-arms, and the two knights had but to 
tilt at each other, “you can reply to him, for he 
is your equal.” 

“I thank you, sire, I thank you,” said St. 
Megrin, calmly, with a kind of gratification, as 
if one of his prayers had been materialized, 
“but I needed not this great boon, and, since 
your majesty does not oppose it, I wish to defy 
him in such a guise that there must follow 
fight or flight in dishonor.” 

“Flight!” reiterated Guise. 

It was the cuckoo word which he had often 
heard from his few prudent partisans, and he 
was to hear it later. He was so quarrelsome 


78 A Rapid Ascent. 

that he seemed destined to go down under a se- 
cret stroke. 

“Harken to me, king and peers: I, Paul 
Stuart, Lord of Caussade, Count and Duke of 
St. Megrin, unto you, Henry of Lorraine, Duke 
of Guise ! Be ye witness, all ye present, that we 
defy you to mortal combat, you and all the 
princes of your house, be it with sword alone, or 
sword and dagger, to the uttermost, so long as 
heart beats in the body and the blade clings to 
the hilt ! We renounce any appeal to mercy, as 
we hold ourselves bound not to grant the same ! 
On this, God and all the saints, with my patron 
St. Paul to the front, be my aid!” 

He flung down at the duke’s feet the fellow 
glove to that he had cut to patches, and added : 

“To you and yours, one down — the others 
come up!” 

“Bravo, St. Megrin!” cried Joyeuse. 

“Handsomely tendered, that challenge !” 
said the Moontjoye king-at-arms, as a judge of 
the delivery. 


A Rapid Ascent. 79 

“He dances well to whom Fortune pipes,” 
commented Bussy. “If he chooses me as sec- 
ond, I could pair off gratefully with that ugly 
Antraguet of his!” 

The duke pointed to the glove, for one of his 
adherents to pick it up. 

“One instant, gentlemen,” interrupted Bussy, 
unable to resist the impulse at the ball being 
set rolling. “Allow me to put in my say, your 
majesty! I, Louis of Clermont, Lord of Bussy 
in Amboise, declare here that I am brother-in- 
arms of the Count-duke of St. Megrin, and, as 
such, am his sworn second ! I offer to fight to 
the uttermost likewise, to whomsoever stands 
forth as second to Henry of Guise, and as token 
of defiance and gage that I will be on the 
ground, I throw down my gauntlet !” 

His glove fell beside the other. 

Dumilatre, the duke’s master-of-horse, hesi- 
tated between the two. 

“Ho, ho!” laughed Joyeuse, whose voice lost 
all its languor and the treble distinguishing it 


80 A Rapid Ascent. 

in usual conversation when he came out fore- 
most in the front of war; “Bussy, you have 
come back to rob your old companion of the 
honor to be next to St. Megrin! You are so 
swift that you give one no time. But rest 
easy; if you are laid low, I will thrust in and not 
thrust in the air!” 

If King Henry did not relish pitched battles, 
he was fond of these duels, which were corners 
of a battlefield in miniature. He looked on the 
fire he had kindled, and which was spreading, 
much as the Roman may have gazed on his 
capital enflamed. 

“Take them all up,” said Guise to his old 
aid-de-camp; “ah, he was too late in challeng- 
ing me, let me tell you — for his doom was fixed 
before this day!” Then, looking round, he be- 
trayed that it was his power that had forced 
Antraguet upon the king’s circle anew, for he 
singled him out by name. 

“You be my second,” he said. “Look ye, 
gentlemen,” he continued for the general ear; 


A Rapid Ascent. 8i 

“I am playing for high stakes — I offer you your 
revenge for scaring off Quelus! Dumilatre, 
get ready my battle-sword ; it is just the length 
of that bilbo which the fire-new duke inherits 
from little Schomberg!” 

“You are right, sir duke! This is a battle- 
sword, too, and it is not in a boy’s grip this 
time — it may pierce even that fine cuirass, so 
prudently solid ! But I would cry for the com- 
bat to be with us stripped to our shirts, so that 
all could see whose heart beat the quickest !” 

This expression was not uncommon when 
duelists were accustomed to take occult ad- 
vantage of one another by wearing charms un- 
der their vests. 

“Enough, gentlemen,” said the king, begin- 
ning to smother the flame, under his mother’s 
rebuking glance. “We will honor the combat 
with our presence, and we will fix the day to- 
morrow.” 

Henry’s “to-morrow” would have seemed a 
blame to any but those who felt that this time he 


82 A Rapid Ascent. 

longed to see the blood of his “after-konig” pre- 
tender to his throne. 

“Now, each of you, being a king’s fighter, is 
entitled to a boon, and you shall be given it, 
now, not to-morrow” — seeing that his habitual 
word had elicited smiles ; “what do you call for, 
St. Megrin?” 

“Equal partition of sunlight and firm ground ! 
The rest I leave to my God and my sword !” 

“Schomberg’s unappeased manes will fortify 
that! What does the duke desire?” 

“The formal promise that, before the action, 
your majesty will recognize the league and ap- 
point the leader. I have no more to say.” 

The citizens’ representative bowed in the 
same appeal, intimidated, however, by their visit 
having clashed with this challenge. 

“Although we did not expect this demand,” 
said Henry finally, “we will conde — that is, con- 
sent to the request. Gentlemen, since the Duke 
of Guise has marred the sport, and we cannot 
well dance in a mask on the eve of another 


A Rapid Ascent. 83 

sanguinary duel, we will hold a council of state 
in the stead. I convoke you all, my lieges. As 
for the two champions,” added he, changing his 
clear, incisive voice to a whining one, which he 
must have imitated from the worthy Father 
Gorenflot, the preacher of the Abbey of St. 
Genevieve, “I urge them to profit by the in- 
terval to think deeply of their souls. Break 
up the court, lord chamberlain !” 


CHAPTER V. 


IN THE ROTE OF CUPID. 

All over fashionable Paris where the sad news 
had not been carried that, on account of serious 
altercation in the king’s presence and with his 
acquiescence, the masked ball would be post- 
poned, there was considerable flutter. Since 
tourneys were abolished, spectacles in which 
dancing and posing, for the stately pavanes were 
little else, were in vogue. 

In Soissons House the commotion was in- 
tense; from the ladies and the guest, the Prin- 
cess of Porcian, to the humblest servant, the 
maids participating in the toilets, and the foot- 
men donning their best to escort the party, a 
fever was flushing the cheeks and brisking up 
the limbs. 

The dressing-rooms of the Countess of Mon- 
tafix, mother of the Countess of Soissons, and 


In the Role of Cupid. 85 

her daughter were not capacious enough, and 
the apartments assigned to Therine of Cleves, 
including her oratory, were added to the suit, 
with which they corresponded. Through the 
ample doorways, the folding panels drawn back 
and the portieres gathered to the side, there was 
an incessant flow of the dressing-maids carry- 
ing the splendrous attire, gorgeous appurte- 
nances and heirloom jewelry. 

Therine, Princess of Porcian, was in a wrap- 
per screening her contour, but its elegance was 
still betrayed by the undulations, as she walked 
with the majestic tread of superior women who 
have been reared from childhood in the inflexi- 
ble iron framework entitled a corset. Her 
usually placid, yet often animated countenance, 
was clouded by some annoying sentiment, for 
she viewed the objects of attire and adorn- 
ment with inattention, though seeking some- 
thing in the mass. 

The page playfully took shelter behind her, 
crying out with affected trepidation : 


86 In the Role of Cupid. 

“Rescue, fair mistress ! and protection, 
against the ire of your first attiring-woman !” 

“What have you been doing wrong this 
time ?” answered she, distractedly. “Still a 
mischievous act?” 

“No fear for that, madam. I am a discour- 
teous page, for I have too good a memory for 
deeds in which ladies were concerned !” 

“Your ladyship seems thoughtful?” said Lady 
Cosse, affectedly fond of her charge, over 
whom she had been set by the queen-mother. 

“Why, no ; it is a trifle ! but it was a keep- 
sake. One of my mother’s gifts. My little 
flask of pungent salts has become detached from 
my girdle-chains. See! has any one come 
across it?” 

Everybody shook their heads, but promised 
willingly to keep a sharp eye for the missing 
bauble. 

“I will hunt for it,” said Arthur, “and my re- 
ward shall be that you will beg me off from 
Lady Cosse’s choler!” 


In the Role of Cupid, 87 

“Well, it does not deserve a high recompense, 
but it is dear to me. Proceed with your search, 
Arthur.” 

“If it contained honey-wine he would not be 
long finding it!” said Marie. 

“And if it were shut up in the wise monks’ 
books of ‘The Art of Verifying Dates,’ Lady 
Crosse would never light upon it !” said the boy, 
ducking his head to pass under the old dame’s 
arm. 

“Madam,” said the maid, “while your high- 
ness was in her own rooms, there came in the 
Queen Louise, who wanted to show the darling- 
est little monkey that ever came out of the wilds 
of Brazil.” 

“Monkey to the contrary,” said the elder 
dame, “she came just to spy about and discover 
what disguise her highness was to wear. She 
has been to Lady Montpencier’s, I was notified, 
and I am much mistaken if she will not gather 
the points of all the masks and costumes of 
grand dames and great lords at the ball!” 


88 In the Role of Cupid. 

Arthur had made a perfunctory scrutiny, and, 
returning to listen to the small talk, sat himself 
on a hassock at his mistress’ feet, as she took a 
chair at the toilet-table. 

She lowered on him a deeply wistful eye. 

“I could see no flask anywhere,” said he, not 
understanding that the bottle left at the alche- 
mist’s could become important. 

Lady Crosse rattled on, as if to anticipate the 
royal lady Louise’s budget being opened : 

“The Viscount of Joyeuse is going to appear 
as Alcibiades, a Greek chief — his helmet is of 
carved molten gold, and run him up to a ruinous 
figure. His entire dress will cost ten thousand 
livres !” 

“The Baron Epernon,” added Marie, not to 
be outdone, “is to be another Greek — the Em- 
peror Caligula, who comes in on a hobby- 
horse, with a head like nature, carved in 
ivory ” 

Luckily, the little commentator, Arthur, was 
absorbed in his own thought, like a boy had 


In the Role of Cupid. 89 

chosen his own beau ideal or rather, ideal beau, 
and he exclaimed with enthusiasm : 

“And how is the Count of St. Megrin to be 
dressed, Lady Cosse?” 

The princess appeared to have been pricked 
with a pin, for she carried her hand abruptly to 
her neck, and held it there as to repress some- 
thing which rose in her throat. 

“Ah, the new favorite? Let me see — what 
was said about this chevalier out of the Borde- 
lais, who might have come out of the witch- 
woods where Charlemagne’s knights defeated 
dragons and other devourers of persecuted 
maidens? He was to have a most dazzling 
coat, but, though fresh from Genoa, he hastily 
countermanded the order, and the seamstresses 
toiled all night to finish the complete habit 
of Nostradamus, the star-gazer, something like 
our diviner, Cosmo Ruggieri, wears when the 
court favors him with a call.” 

“Ruggieri,” breathed the high lady from the 


90 In the Role of Cupid. 

Rhine border. “Does not this Ruggieri dwell 
somewhere in our neighborhood ?” 

“Close, indeed; but, since there is no com- 
munication of late years between this new man- 
sion and the old one, which he hired, one has to 
go mightily roundabout! But, as the crow 

flies, it is only a stone’s cast to ” 

“You never spoke more truly !” said the page. 
“With a popgun I have sent a marble spinning 
into the brass tube which he thrusts out of his 
shattered window there, and by which he sees 
what the man in the moon is guilty of !” 

Therine shuddered at this proximity, which 
explained partially her quandary. 

Guise’s spies had seen clearly; she had been 
drugged and transported by a secret way into 
old Soissons House, where Ruggieri had his la- 
boratory. She had but a dreamy recollection of 
St. Megrin appearing to her, speaking with her 
and fading away — rather than walking — at an 
alarm; after this she had returned to slumber, 


In the Role of Cupid. 91 

and, as said, all seemed a vision. Now, it must 
be accepted as a happening not to be contested. 

“I tell you,” said Arthur, a pretty page, “that 
the Count of St. Megrin, although newly come 
to court, cannot have found a flame — otherwise 
he would wear the lady’s device on his sleeve.” 

“This young man might be cautious!” re- 
marked the princess. 

“A southerner!” said Marie, with contempt 
for such judges. “Cautious!” 

“But pray,” said the elder waiting-woman, 
“what is there so notable about this stranger 
that this boy makes him the object of his trum- 
peting?” 

“Remarkable !” repeated the page, wounded, 
“why, he is the most promising gallant of the 
king’s swarm, now that Quelus, the great 
swordsman, is dead, and that Bussy, the first 
after him, is out of favor ! Why, I should ask 
nothing better of my good saint, than the honor 
of being his page, if I were not enjoying the 
grace of being the Princess of Cleves’ !” 


92 the Role of Cupid. 

He kissed his mistress’ hand, hanging list- 
less by her side. 

“You like him?” said Lady Cosse? “What 
has this Count of St. Megrin done under your 
own eyes?” asked her mistress. 

“Why, you know that, under the arcade by 
the Louvre, the dealers in toads and tortoises 
for the gardeners, and seeds for cage birds, and 
in birds themselves, have established a line of 
booths to amuse the loungers ” 

“I know them, because they are so much in 
the way! I have had to turn out in my litter 
for them ” 

“Well, I stopped to learn what had gathered 
more than ever a dense throng. A gentleman 
had thrown down a handful of silver, and was 
opening some cages with his own hand !” 

“Oh, setting free birds ! That is quite worthy 
of a saint ” 

“It was a saint’s act, for the gentleman was 


our St. Megrin.” 


In the Role of Cupid. 93 

“Your St. Megrin, if you please! All out of 
humanity ?” 

“Well, that may be — only, they were black- 
birds, and he said : ‘Now, they may go back to 
Lorraine — we do not want any Guises in Paris 
— even one is too many !’ ” 

“Guises? blackbirds ?” 

“The coat of the duke’s house shows the 
blackbird, does it not?” 

“Silence! for you have conjured up our — 
blackbird !” 

Indeed, there was at the street gateway one 
of those appalling shouts which hail the passage 
of a popular favorite; intermingled roars of 
“Long live our Henry! Guise forever! Lor- 
raine, a Lorraine !” rose thunderingly. 

“Tacit!” said Arthur. “It is not right that 
you should hear the little fool’s bells tinkle any 
more when that great alarm bell booms! I’ll 
be off!” 

“Arthur, stay with me ! I believe he is com- 
ing to me, not to confer with the old countess!” 


94 In the Role of Cupid. 

Arthur ran to a peephole designed to give a 
view of any one crossing the courtyard. He 
turned his face round, and it was pale. 

“It is your lord,” said he; “he is in bright 
armor, which would do for a ball, but he looks 
grim!” 

“Black will take no other hue!” said she. 
“Mind that you do not quit me until I order 
you!” 

This was her first order which gave him 
qualms. The town talk ran, and he was, we 
see, a receptacle for it, that Guise could give 
the Prime Devil odds at villainy and beat him. 

“But, bah!” said the little fellow, stiffening 
his upper lip, “the ball has not come off yet! 
It is the one with luck who brings the bride 
home!” 

The next moment the duke entered the 


apartment. 


CHAPTER VI. 


OFFERING THF CUP. 

“Ha, you are up!” said the Duke of Guise, 
fixing his eyes upon Therine, Princess of Por- 
cian, after a cursory glance about the apart- 
ment. “Were you going to enter your dress- 
ing-room ?” 

“I was not, my lord, but I was on the point 
of calling my tiring-women to dress me.” 

“It is useless, lady, for the ball is not going 
to take place.” 

“The ball is put off !” said she, but truly it was 
not with the sorrow of most belles in her posi- 
tion. 

“Small wonder that you are not very much 
distressed, for I see that you would have gone 
against your will.” 

“I do little with my will; I was in this event 
following your orders, and did what I did, not to 
let you perceive that they were painful to me.” 


9 6 Offering the Cup. 

“Do not ask too much of mortal man,” he 
gruffly said. “I must say that your retiring 
mood, whether due to your being brought up 
among those Puritans, the Rhinelanders, or not, 
is absurd in this country, above all in this 
city, where is the court and wealth. Person- 
ages of our altitude are bound to show our- 
selves, to keep our name prominent and give 
our varletry an excuse to batten upon us ! Why, 
we have abbesses in our family, but they do not 
go out in receptions, galas and ceremonials in 
full attire and insignia, too! You must show 
yourself at court, my lady, for persons inimical 
to your affianced one, notice your unaccounta- 
ble abstention and comment spitefully upon it. 
Bring criticism on yourself if you must, but not 
on the family to which you are right soon to be 
allied! Come, come, princess of a Rhenish 
principality is only even with my sovereign 
dukedom ! However, enough on this matter — 
I have another to discuss with you. Ah, that 
pest of a boy lingers here!” 


Offering the Cup. 97 

“He is not a pest — he is a relative of mine !” 
said Therine, steadily. 

“Arthur, begone !” 

The boy presented a firm mien, and did not 
lower his eyes. 

“Why should you banish the youth who is 
but Propriety, as I understand such matters? 
What makes you consider that we can have se- 
cret interviews ?” 

This was her first remark indicating that hos- 
tility might be up her sleeve. 

“Why should we be burdened with him?” 

“He is not an eyeservant!” said she, keenly. 

“He may be an earwig, though !” sharply re- 
joined the duke, making to the page a most im- 
perious gesture. “Do you fear to remain alone 
with me?” 

“Why should I fear that, or anything, in the 
house of the Countess of Soissons and of her 
mother, Lady Montafix, they being of the 
queen-mother’s circle, my patroness?” 

He showed impatience; this was the first time 


98 Offering the Cup. 

that she had uttered any kind of threat, and 
one based on the growing enmity which he be- 
lieved lately the old queen entertained for his 
line, if not himself individually. 

“In that case, ,, exclaimed he, brutally turn- 
ing on the page, “you be packing, wren !” He 
walked almost over to him, without the boy 
budging, although he winced. “Well, little 
rebel ?” 

“I am waiting for my mistress’ orders, my 
lord duke !” replied the sturdy youth. 

The princess shuddered to see how heavy in 
the jaw the prince was with discontent. He 
was capable of letting his gloved hand fall on 
that peach-bloom cheek. 

“You hear this, lady! How he trumps me!” 

“Arthur, leave the room!” said she, reluc- 
tantly. 

“I obey you,” replied the youth, but he 
stalked out very saucily, muttering: “After 
all, he has not made me look blue !” 

He was red, in fact. 


99 


Offering the Cup. 

It was a very feeble barrier, but the lady felt 
at a loss when she had no longer even this pro- 
tection. As the duke turned toward her, baf- 
fled at this evasive withdrawal, she was taken 
with a nervous spasm; her high forehead was 
creased by a wrinkle like the cord of her orna- 
ment, called after the originator, “La Ferron- 
iere ,” and her mouth was contracted with dis- 
gust and vexation. But she soon overcame 
her feelings, and let her features recover the 
resignation common to the young women of her 
times, oscillating between cloister and boudoir, 
almost as chilling and dismal. 

She knew well that she was but the living 
pledge of the agreement between her father and 
the house of Lorraine, concerning the succes- 
sion to the duchy, which, extending on both 
sides of the Rhine, was of great strategical 
value. To be held as a pawn, more and more 
irritated her. 

For a sulky air, there was little to choose be- 
tween either of them. 


L.ofC. 


I oo Offering the Cup. 

The duke stamped his foot, heavy with armor, 
as the door swung to with provoking slow- 
ness. 

“It strikes me as strange, lady,” grumbled he, 
“that my orders should require confirming by 
any one! your approval ” 

“The youth is my man, and ought to look 
only to me!” she replied, sullenly. 

“He needs whipping-cheer ! but — this thwart- 
ing me is not becoming — is not warranted! 
Henry of Lorraine is known, and it is known, 
likewise, that his hands and his poniards force 
his commands!” 

“You exaggerate! What consequence can 
you draw, my lord, from the waywardness of a 
child?” 

“I? None! But I had need of his absence to 
transact private business. Have you any objec- 
tion to be my secretary for the nonce?” 

She persisted in her sudden mood of sar- 
casm, for she observed : 


Offering the Cup. ioi 

“Secretary? Is the warrior of the Lorraines 
become what we call a feder-fechter?” 

“I can use both pen and penknife at my 
wish !” replied he, more and more surprised at 
this complete alteration in her reception. 

“Why should I handle the pen for your lord- 
ship?” asked she. 

“To write ” 

“To whom — my father?” 

“What does it matter? You should learn 
to follow my dictation !” 

“In faith?” He did not like the knitting of 
her usually unruffled brow in determination. 
He had intended to direct her to sit at a writing- 
table, but he reconsidered this display of au- 
thority, which seemed defied, and himself 
brought paper and the ink dish, in which were 
stuck quills, to the table where she sat. He 
brushed away the toilet articles, with shocking 
indifference to their importance in a lady’s eyes. 

“Is there anything else you need?” 

“I am sorry to say that my hand is unsteady.” 


102 Offering the Cup. 

He had seen that and reasoned that he had ter- 
rified her at last. “I fear that I cannot shape a 
character creditably. Let me ring for some 
one better qualified — for the honor !” 

“No, lady; it is indispensable that it should 
be your hand!” 

“Then, no one who knew it — and there are 
next to none here in Paris — would recognize it, 
for my hand still shakes like an aspen leaf !” 

“I dare say it will be legible ! Write ” 

“At least, I would hear what you want writ- 
ten ” She took up the pen, as if beaten. 

She was much surprised at the words spoken, 
and her face set hard: 

Friend of the King : — This night, members of the trea- 
sonable body called the Holy Union meet in old Soissons 
House, in the part inhabited by the Italian wizard. It is 
impossible for a stranger to enter among them by that way, 
but there is a secret entrance from Soissons House, 
through the apartments of the Princess of Porcian and 
Cleavev 

She started. How much did this sinister 
betrothed of hers know? 

“Write!” said he. 


Offering the Cup. 103 

“I will write not a line until I learn to whom 
this is addressed ” 

“You heard — to a friend of the king!” 

“It must be a jest, for you are ” 

“A friend of the king.” 

“But you are chief of this league !” 

“Still, the best friend of the king in trying 
to rid him of the worst of his parasites !” 

“It is a prickly jest — I will not handle it!” 
She threw down the quill. 

“But if you hear to whom the errand is 
given !” 

“You would not betray your own party — this 
is a deathtrap ! Lead your quarry into it 
yourself, my lord! I shall not endanger my 
conscience — not stain my honor !” She rose. 

“Your honor?” sneered he. “Who ought to 
be more guarding of that than your affianced? 
Let me be the judge of what concerns that — 
you as well as me ! and write !” 

“Your desire alone might command me — 
your command is not, methinks, yet authorized 


104 Offering the Cup. 

by any law of man or Heaven! I am bound 
to refuse such writing in the dark!” 

“This is my order, order — do you under- 
stand? Obey!” 

“At least, I have the right to inquire the 
cause!” 

“The cause ! All this mincing and brangling 
convince me that you well know that.” 

“It seems to me that you are not my king — 
not the King David, and that I am not your 
Captain Joab — Antraguet, to deceive by an 
Uriah — better change your secretary, my lord ! 
I dismiss myself from the post of shame !” 

He withered under her high and scornful 
look. 

“You must write this letter!” 

“You are speaking to a princess! Allow me 
to hear no more of this !” 

He intercepted her, and it was plain that, in- 
conceivable though the roughness was, under 
this roof, to a foreigner of rank equal to his 


Offering the Cup. 105 

own, he would go to any length in this over- 
bearing passion. 

“You shall not depart !” 

The wall of steel was impassable. 

“You will obtain absolutely nothing from me 
by compelling me to stay !” she answered, 
firmly. 

He imposed on her so by a movement of his 
gloved hand that she settled down in the chair, 
though her impulse had been madly to flee. 

“You will find it more wise to reflect/’ said 
he; “my orders, if scorned by your highness, 
are not so treated by anybody else in Paris ! In 
brief, I could substitute for the drawing-room 
and elegant oratory of the Countess of Mon- 
tafix the humble cell at a nunnery !” 

“If I must be retained here until I shall have 
communicated with my father,” returned she, 
trying to show more defiance than she felt, 
“name the nunnery to which I should retire! 
If this is a question of raising money, for I hear 
that you are levying to constitute an army — 


lo6 Offering the Cup. 

pray believe me that the Princess of Porcian’s 
estate can liquidate your charges on the dowry 
of the proposed Duchess of Guise !” 

This was almost the outbreak of hostilities. 

“That would be but a feeble expiation if such 
losses can be gauged in money ! Besides, hope 
would follow you up to the convent gate — and 
perhaps slip in at the bars ! There are no walls 
that it cannot overleap, especially if as- 
sisted ” 

“Assisted — why pause ” 

“Assisted by a ready, skillful and impudent 
hand ” 

“Hand of my page?” 

“Not so much a page’s as a knight’s.” 

“It is true, if times are not altered, a perse- 
cuted princess should find a knight !” 

“Ah, do we meet on the same ground now?” 
His sparkle in the eye was not of delight, un- 
less a sanguinary kind. 

He shook his head. He was not going to 
play into her intention in this manner. Afraid 


Offering the Cup. 107 

that he would not be the victor in the parley, 
he returned to the former contest. 

It was more in his element, being brute 
strength. 

“We must begin that letter!” 

“Never, my lord, never!” articulated she en- 
ergetically, more pronounced than hereto- 
fore. 

“Do not drive me to the end — it is too much 
that I should have threatened twice without 
once striking!” 

“To obeying your insensate behests, I prefer 
the reclusion ! ay, if eternal !” 

There was too much of the martyr — for af- 
fection — in the stubbornness not to enflame his 
rage. 

He swore one of those great oaths which 
great lords reserved for themselves, and they 
would have been surprised to hear from a vul- 
gar youth. 

“Do you imagine that I have no means to 
control you?” hissed he, bending over her. 


Io8 Offering the Cup. 

“What other have you?” said she, with bit- 
ter ridicule. 

The words had not died on her lips before her 
lips became cold and white. He had drawn 
from his breast, not the poinard with which he 
had menaced her, but a small, cut crystal phial 
which she recognized, as well by its unique 
shape as by the fragment of gold chain still 
around its neck, as her missing vinaigrette. 
Then he had found it, where she must have lost 
it, in the room of Ruggieri ; or the latter had be- 
trayed her and he knew all that had happened 
there. 

She became marble, and listlessly watched 
him pour some fluid out of the bottle into a cup 
of water on the table. 

It was not the aromatic salts — it was clear, 
but having the deadly promise of some limpid 
extracts. 

She believed that he would not shrink from 
assassinating her. 

“What would you do?” gasped she. 


109 


Offering the Cup. 

“Nothing! This is simply a beverage of 
which the bare sight should furnish a virtue not 
in my words !” 

“Do you suppose ” she began. 

“We are beyond suppositions,” said he, 
sternly; “or — will you write at my bidding?” 

“No — God have mercy on me!” She clasped 
her hands, as if nothing should induce her to 
take up the pen. 

He offered the cup. A kind of essential oil 
floated on the surface, seethed slightly, and, per- 
meating all the water, disappeared as if noth- 
ing had been added. If poison, it was such a 
sublimation as few less than Ruggieri in chemi- 
cal acquirements could have furnished. 

“In Heaven’s name — for the relief of your 
soul, do not do this deed, my lord ! I am inno- 
cent of any fault to merit this crime! Do not 
let the death of a poor soul, far from home and 
fatherland, sully your fame ! Guise, this would 
be a pitiable, frightful misdeed, for I am guilt- 
less as the Paschal lamb! See!” She fell at 


no Offering the Cup. 

his feet and bowed her head so that her loos- 
ened golden tresses swept the dust off his cuis- 
sards and his iron-shod feet. “What do you 
seek more than this humiliation? — worse than 
you could make the peasant-born suffer! A 
princess sues for you not to commit murder! 
Fie! though innocent, yet I fear death — con- 
sider, I have seen so little of life !” 

“I am not one to snap and miss!” said he, 
with the grimness which had daunted many a 
foe, and which repelled many a friend. “You 
know the means to have this draft emptied out 
vainly !” 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE “URIAH” BETTER. 

The remedy was more dreadful than the bane. 
She had divined very clearly, and she was sure, 
since the smelling-bottle had returned under her 
sight, but replenished with the drug, that, 
through her, the Count of St. Megrin was aimed 
at. Certainly, he might enter the wolves’ re- 
pair to learn the nature of the plot against his 
sovereign, if such a lure were sent him, but, 
though on the face of it there was nothing to in- 
criminate the writer, she would not thus have 
decoyed a stranger to his destruction. She 
tried to believe that this was an experiment to 
test her courage; that even the duke, however 
cruel in open warfare, would not have a solitary 
enemy thus butchered in a conclave of cut- 
throats. She did not yet suspect the whole of 
his malignant and unheroic plan. 

“Guise and Lorraine could not harbor this 


112 


The “Uriah” Letter. 


execrable design!” said she, offering to rise, 
as if the comedy were over. 

“Play?” he said, scornfully, with such a face 
that she cowered again; “it is a play where I 
throw not money but the man !” 

He sought the life of a rival, therefore ! His 
smile was so bloodthirsty that she hoped no 
more from her eloquence. She lowered her 
head into the cup of her hands, became like 
alabaster, and prayed a deep, silent prayer, 
without heaving of the bosom or swelling of the 
throat with sobs — the communion of a crea- 
ture with its Creator. Any but he must have 
been abashed at being the intruder into this 
sanctuary of a human soul in conference with a 
higher power. 

He did not bid her cease — he dared not. 
Never had he so dreaded that a chosen thunder- 
bolt might pick him out and strike him. He 
shrank as she rose, not to try to escape, not to 
gain an instant, but ready — almost rushing on 
her death without the least appeal to pity. 


The “Uriah” Letter. 


*13 

She might be guilty of loving contrary to her 
vow of engagement, but she would die like a 
princess. She was so decided that she darted 
out her hand and clutched the cup. 

“And the health is to marital obedience!” 
said he, ready to dash the liquor from her lips, 
though. 

“To death!” replied she. 

He writhed, for he saw by her last smile that 
she hoped to meet another in the world where 
there is promised no parting! He knocked the 
cup out of her grasp, and it was bent as it 
struck the floor; the contents splashed over the 
kitten, and it fled with a painful squeak. Its 
hair, scorched as by fire, bristled, and at each 
tip stood a bead of charcoal! What agony 
she had escaped ! 

He saw that she loved that other, and pre- 
ferred him with death than the life of union 
with the affianced tyrant. He cursed him and 
her. He the more, because he was so pro- 
foundly loved. He could wish at feeling his in- 


The “Uriah” Letter. 


1 14 

feriority to this duke of a day that he had swal- 
lowed that draft of anguish. 

Scarcely able to contain himself from strik- 
ing her to lie at his feet again, he grasped her 
by the hand and his heavy grip seemed to sink 
deep. In the circle of the steel plates which 
mailed the back, her arm appeared like a dove 
enveloped in a glittering boa’s folds. 

She uttered a low scream, more in horror at 
such a rude usage than for the pain. 

“Write!” said he, dragging her to the table. 

“You hurt me, sir!” said she. 

“Write, I bade you!” 

He felt through the leather that he held 
something more like marble than human flesh; 
the hand was like Parian, the arm above was 
congested with blood. He saw the veins 
clogged, like red lines on a map. With this 
shiver of cold, she had a mist creep over her 
sight. Then she smiled with a kind of thank- 
fulness which he did not at the first compre- 
hend — she was simply grateful because she 


The “Uriah” Letter. 


115 

thought that she was escaping his unmanliness 
and his cruelty by dying. 

He released her, fearing that it was too late. 

“Is she dead?” muttered he, as she sank to 
his feet. “No ; it is one of those swoons which 
artful women call to their aid when there is no 
shield but insensibility for their confusion and 
their shame!” 

On the enpurpled arm, the grip-marks be- 
came white. 

“I would that band were around his throat !” 
said he. “Ah, beautiful women are like the 
deer — they would be hacked but for the gashed 
hide fetching the lower price !” 

He sat down with pretended tranquillity, 
watching her as a duelist might one with 
whom, on coming to, a second and perhaps dif- 
ferently ending bout must ensue. He did not 
feel victorious. 

He let her revive, without the least atten- 
tion, hating and yet admiring, for she had 
braved death. It was physical pain which had 


Il6 The “Uriah” Letter. 

vanquished her. Strong men had not in the 
rack, borne more without succumbing. 

She sat up; she looked immediately at her 
bruised arm, and not at all at him ; she drew her 
sleeve down upon it, and bound it with a strip of 
handkerchief. She rose — all without deigning 
a glance at him, and, standing unsteadily at the 
table, close to him, repaired the disorder with a 
studied ignoring of him which affected him 
more stingingly than if she had struck him with 
the flagellator’s scourge of many strings. 

“Well may you hide what you brought on 
you by your obstinacy!” he could not refrain 
from saying, in the irritation which this con- 
duct caused. 

She rang a handbell with her other hand. 

“Write !” said he, persisting. 

“If I were to write, it would be an inquiry 
what the nobility of France and Germany will 
say when told that the Duke of Guise had 
bruised a lady’s arm with a battle-gauntlet !” 

He would have replied, but Lady Cosse en- 


The “Uriah” Letter. 117 

tered at the door, which Arthur had opened at 
the first tinkle of the bell. 

“I was careless,” said the princess to the old 
dame, who looked her surprise at the unusual 
animation of her mistress. “I overturned a 
cup, which has broken and cut me with the 
splinters. You will let me leave you, my lord?” 
she added, with freezing politeness. 

She crossed to the door without hurry, nurs- 
ing one arm in the other, and quitted the room 
without the usual ceremonious bow to her 
guest or host, for he had acted more like the 
latter. 

The tiring-woman stared in consternation at 
the duke. Even her purblind eyes could see 
that this was something more momentous than 
a tiff between an engaged couple. 

The Duke of Guise had taken off the glove 
which had left its ineffaceable mark on that 
spirit, if not on the arm, and looked as if he 
could have stamped it out of shape. He laid it 
on the table, and said, in a broken voice : 


Il8 


The "Uriah” Letter. 


“Do not follow your lady.” 

He wrote the lines which he had dictated, 
this time, for a set copy, and placed it on the 
table. Turning to the intimidated waiting-lady, 
he said to her, in his highly-commanding tone : 

“You will write this out as you see it. You 
will notice also that it is on the king’s ser- 
vice !” 

It happened that Lady Cosse prided herself 
on her handwriting. This vanity traveled side 
by side with his wish. She sat down, perking 
her head a little to one side like a flattered bird, 
and took up the pen critically. She began with- 
out trying to understand the text, for it is a tra- 
dition of letterers that comprehension is fatal 
to good work. In her antiquated hand, fine, 
cramped and small, she copied from the tall, 
sprawling, gigantic model, without exhibiting a 
shade of emotion. The betrayal of the league 
soon struck her as astonishing on the part of 
the leaguer-in-chief, but she did not really 


The “Uriah” Letter. 119 

pause, up to the last period, save to renew the 
dip of ink. 

He let her sprinkle the letter with golden 
sand, took it up, scanned it, nodded approval, as 
much at the faithfulness as at her refraining 
from comment, and, after folding it, corners in, 
put the last touch to it by affixing a drop of 
wax. She, only too eager to oblige, handed 
him the seal which belonged to her mistress, a 
chiseled chalcedone, in a silver handle. 

He pressed on the yielding wax. 

“If he does not know her hand, he must 
know her arms!” he jocularly said, but not 
aloud, for he did not expect the conceit to be 
relished or even comprehended. 

He took out a purse, and laid it under the en- 
larged eyes of the perplexed woman. 

“This, by a sure hand, by wish of your mis- 
tress,” said he. 

“That purse to the bearer?” inquired she, 
amazed at the generosity, even in a lover. 


120 


The “Uriah” Letter, 


“No; that is for you!” said he, perhaps 
aware of her reputation for cupidity, as a wor- 
thy servant to Queen Catherine. 

“Oh, that boy is the surest hand,” said she, 
no doubt perceiving that such wages covered 
iniquity, and at once entering into the scheme, 
if there were one. 

The duke thrust the key which he had in his 
pouch into the end of the missive. 

Lady Cosse took both as they were, and went 
to the door, where Arthur, not daring to enter, 
was listening intently. 

On seeing the address, his eyes were relieved 
of anxiety. 

“Do you know his lodgings?” asked she. 

“The Count of Megrin’s?” repeated he, after 
reading. “Yes! rather twice than once! 
Mother, this will make the gentleman happy!” 

“What did he say?” asked the duke, waiting 
impatiently till the door closed after the mes- 
senger’s departure. 


The “Uriah” Letter. 


121 

‘That the letter would, he thought, make the 
receiver happy !” 

“No doubt — it is intended for that end!” re- 
marked the prince, enigmatically. “You are 
so, with that boon, too?” 

“It is like your grace,” said she, bowing as he 
went to the door. 

He was between the princess and the only 
way out. 

“Come he to her by any way,” muttered he; 
“he must step over the stone which closes his 
sepulchre !” 

He rejoined his men a.t the gateway with so 
light a step, spite of his battle array, and with 
so joyous a visage that the crowd cheered more 
heartily than before, and some said, enviously : 

“He has been in there to visit his lady-love ! 
He is to marry the Princess of Porcian as soon 
as he is approved chief of the Holy League !” 

Within her room, bathing her bruises, which 
she would not fawn, nor, woman-like, permit 


122 The “Uriah” Letter. 

any eye to see, the princess heard the vocifera- 
tions : 

“Long live Henry of the League!” 

This was a great prince! But love curled 
her lip hatefully. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


FOLLOWING THL BAIT. 

Arthur had made good speed to reach the 
palace of the Louvre. He found all there 
plunged into desolation, for the order counter- 
manding the gala had overturned the joy of 
the servants and purveyors into misery. 

He arrived at the council chamber without 
any satisfaction, but, luckily, a page of his ac- 
quaintance, with whom he had often fished for 
small fry along the river, pointed out the apart- 
ment assigned to St. Megrin. 

“Make haste,” said the other lad, “for the 
count has been made a duke, and if he defeats 
his antagonists in a mortal duel which is to 
come off immediately, he will not content him- 
self with those dull rooms.” 

In the ante-chamber he was challenged by a 
German valet, who had accompanied his mas- 
ter since the German tour. 


124 


Following the Bait. 


As the boy would not reveal more than that 
he was bearer of a confidential communication 
from a lady, he was compelled to show him into 
the count’s own sitting-room. 

The latter had no sooner seen the arms on the 
letter in the wax, than he dismissed his man and 
said, as he put the key on his finger and swung 
it there : 

“Where do you come from?” 

“If your lordship does not expect any letter, 
still you might have hoped for one.” 

“That may be, but ” He hesitated to 

open it. “Who are you, little Mercury?” 

“A lord cannot be so ignorant of blazonry as 
to miss reading that emblem aright!” replied 
Arthur, pertly. 

“It is true — I have seen this in Germany ! Is 
it the princess ” 

“You are about right,” replied the page, lay- 
ing his finger on his cherry lip. 

“Did your mistress write this — did she send 
you with it to me ?” 


Following the Bait. 125 

“Look at the address, if you will not believe 
your instinct about the contents.” 

“Did her hand give you this?” 

“Well, do not kiss it, on the chance of error. 
I had it from an old and wrinkled one, direct !” 

“Hem! Her confidante?” 

“I guess so, for she is so old, decrepit and 
bungling that I doubt any one would employ 
her in a busy capacity.” 

“I do not know the handwriting, it is true !” 
said he; “but, then, I am newly come to court. 
If the go-between is her confidante ” 

“Not so much so as I, being her kin, and of 
her choosing, whereas Lady Cosse is of the old 
queen’s.” 

“Lady Cosse!” 

“The mouse is out!” said Arthur. “I shall 
be flogged for this! and I am not accounted a 
babbler!” 

“Where did you last see your lady?” 

“Oh, she was dressing for the ball, and too 
trembling, pale and disturbed to be very eager 


126 Following the Bait. 

about the new attire, which even I call remark- 
able l” 

“Not care about a ball dress? This is likely! 
This concurs,” said the count, allaying his ap- 
prehensions. 

This might happen so, after the interview 
at the sorcerer’s, and yet he had been far from 
expecting a love-note. 

“Perhaps ! See the lines !” suggested Arthur, 
thinking that the gallant was very timorous. 

St. Megrin opened the epistle, and was 
amazed at its tenor, being so opposite to what 
he expected. Nevertheless, nothing could be 
a stronger proof of the writer’s endeavor to 
spite a certain somebody, and so please her own 
friend, positively his foe, than to introduce a 
spy, friendly to the king intrigued against and 
betrayed, into the midst of the hostile cabal. 

To elevate a champion, and defeat her 
loathed tyrant was characteristic of the more 
active women of the age. 


Following the Bait. 127 

Harbored by Catherine de Medici, this was 
work worthy of her instigation. 

Still, fewer words, but breathing love rather 
than revenge, would have delighted him more. 

Here was no illusion such as love-nonsense 
might have generated ; paper, lines, key, counsel 
— all were very real. 

To bring to the king in the morning indubi- 
table evidence that Henry of Guise was marshal- 
ing his forces to dethrone his liege would be 
to hurl him down lower than if he smote him in 
the authorized combat of two ! 

The lover lost, but the royal favorite gained. 

There was plain sense — to destroy her ty- 
rant, and for him to confirm his new title was 
a stroke of policy worthy of the Queen of Na- 
varre, arch-compound of the lady of beauty and 
statecraft. , 

“I am loved !” said he. “And worshiped 1” 

“May I say: ‘Silence!' my lord?” said Ar- 
thur, a little frightened at the prospects he 
imagined, with full memory of how diabolical the 


J28 Following the Bait. 

Duke of Guise had looked at him when he 
braved him. 

‘‘You are right, young sir! and you must be 
mute as the grave likewise! Forget what you 
have carried; what you have seen me receive, 
oh, so gladly! Forget my name! Forget your 
mistress’, as well! She showed little prudence 
in charging you with this heavy burden, un- 
less she knows you are prudent above your 
young years !” 

“I think I can hold my peace ! The still pig 
gets the draff! I heard that over the Rhine!” 

“After all, they would not suspect a little elf 
like you of conveying weighty secrets !” 

“Unless my pride in being the courier be- 
tray me!” said the boy with the blushing 
cheek. 

“Hush! It is a grievous secret — one which 
enfolds the messengers like the two at the ends 
of his journey! Your eyes must not let out, 
your face must not reveal! You are young — 
keep the recklessness and gayety of your time ! 


Following the Bait. 129 

If we meet again, pass me without a bow, or 
sign, or glance ! There are thought-readers in 
the palace, who can gather whole volumes from 
little indications like that! In the future, if 
you should have similar correspondence to 
transmit, beg it not to be confided to perfidious 
paper, which is all men’s informant ! I will un- 
derstand your look, your token, gesture ! I can 
give you my purse, and refill it each time you 

send it to me empty — but ” 

“Master, I am not wholly noble by birth, but 
the half of me which, they say, is so, would 
cleave apart that other part of me called 'mean’ 
if it accepted pay for love’s service. Some 
would not comprehend a talking marmoset 
like me, but I will not take your coin !” 

“Take my hand, little noble ! Some of these 
days, if we are on a battlefield together, and 
you bear yourself as you hold out the pennon 
to indicate — I trust to make you a knight !” 

“I wish I were ten years older, and this the 
battlefield !” exclaimed Arthur. 


130 Following the Bait 

“Faith, it may be as perilous! Mark, if ever 
you have need of me, and I survive the mor- 
row, come to me and ask! You shall have all 
you crave, unto my heart’s blood ! Go out now 
— by the back stairs, and let no person see you 
or know you were with me. God have you and 
your mistress ever in His holy keeping !” 

Arthur gave him a manly shake of the hand, 
and flitted away, with a knowing wink to imply 
that this was not the first time he had gone 
out of the palace surreptitiously. 

St. Megrin was not allowed to doubt, on 
sober consideration, that this odd missive was 
at bottom one of love. A princess does not put 
all that she should hold dear in a chevalier’s 
power without seeing its reach. 

“I shall demolish all this fool’s castle the 
duke is building, from which to assail my mas- 
ter! I shall in one night repay Henry for 
making me his champion !” 

The clock in the courtyard, although erratic, 
struck ten. If he meant to carry out the dar- 


Following the Bait. i)i 

ing route proposed it was necessary not to lose 
time. He had to procure the costume of a cit- 
izen or one of the disbanded soldiers who en- 
listed in the league. 

He was going to call for his valet when his 
path was blocked by a gloomy figure to be en- 
countered in the court precincts. It was a 
monk of that order called the Saccophori, that 
is, wearers of sackcloth. He expected some 
such envoy from the king after the injunction 
from him to prepare religiously for his duel. 
But at this moment, with his heart beating high 
and his whole body buoyant, he did not thank 
this token of care for his spiritual safety. He 
was going to repulse the unwelcome adviser, 
when the hood fell back on the shoulders. 

“Why, we have Master Ruggieri here!” ex- 
claimed he, glad that this seeker after more 
than earthly knowledge could not have seen 
the page. 

“I come from the queen-mother; she is anx- 
ious to know, if possible, the outcome of your 


i32 Following the Bait. 

approaching encounter with the Duke of 
Guise.” 

“No doubt!” impatiently. “I ought to be 
more eager — but I am filled with confidence ! I 
am inspired with faith that I shall be the palm- 
bearer in this strife !” 

“The palmbearer? That is, the martyr — 
the defeated here, to triumph above?” 

“No ! no ! My ideas are wholly worldly. My 
master, I am pitted against a hypocrite and 
traitor. I, the loyal servitor, must win, or 
where would be the justice of Heaven? Not 
on this globe !” 

“Here, sometimes!” 

“Well, what do you see on my hand?” 

“Bloodshed — profuse, malignant, mortal.” 

“Very possible! On my brow? I can an- 
swer that; nothing but happiness — look you! 
I love and I am beloved.” 

He had forgot who had shown him the object 
of this incredible passion when he thus spoke 
enthusiastically. 


Following the Bait. 


133 

“On your brow — reflection of the starlight!” 

The groom of the chambers had not brought 
in lights. The gleam of the stars, crossing over 
the grotesque ornamentation of the old walls, 
slightly illumined the young man’s gleaming 
features. 

“There is death impending!” said the Italian, 
solemnly. 

“Yes, it will be a conflict to the death.” 

“Remember Captain DuGuast, my son!” 
said the astrologer. “He mocked at the warn- 
ing from the stars ! and he ” 

“They butchered him on the sick bed — his 
friends have told me the story — butchers who 
did not dare look askew at him in the broad 
day and on the broad street! Now, I — I never 
felt better and stronger and clearer-headed in 
all my life ! The man at the point of my blade 
dies, unless an angel intervenes, and I should 
thrust at the angel, believing it must be false, 
that undertook to save the perfidious Duke of 
Guise !” 


134 Following the Bait. 

“Well, if this time to-morrow you can look at 
me with those undimmed eyes, then I swear 
that you will count many long and happy days ! 
Do you see those two stars ?” 

“I see multitudes of stars — enough in which 
to people all the Christians of this earth !” 

“But those two, there, of a ruddy light, in the 
Chambers of the South! They are yours and 
your chief ‘distanctor !’ They are going to 
come into conjunction — and but one will emerge 
free and triumphant.’' 

“The other ” 

“Will have plunged forever into the dark !” 

“The dark ? What is that, doctor ?” 

Ruggieri looked at him so close that their 
brows almost touched. 

“If I knew that, my son, I should be lord 
of this palace — lord over all the palaces in the 
world! Now, farewell and fight well! I am 
always in the dark.’’ 

St. Megrin let him go. He was left in mood- 



“ Ruggieri looked at him so closely that their brows almost touched.” 
See page 134. 










Following the Bait. 135 

iness, unbearable after he had been blissful; al- 
though he did not wholly believe now in the 
visionary’s prophecies, he could not recover 
the former state of ecstasy. 

He shrank from this reference to DuGuast, 
whose murder was attributed to the Duke of 
Guise, whether impelled in the first instance 
by Queen Marguerite or not. This hint that 
the duke, scorning to meet, even on the footing 
which the king had made equal, the count, not 
comparable with a tried warrior and sovereign 
prince, thought it no despicable act to em- 
ploy assassins, was sufficient to make a hot- 
head revolve the future a little. And St. Me- 

i 

grin was not a madcap like the other minions. 

“At least,” sighed he, “if, like him, I am to 
be set upon by the whole pack of hangman’s 
dogs, let it be after I shall have heard my be- 
loved say that she loves me and me alone !” 

In this partly-regained pleasure, he was vis- 
ited by Joyeuse, whom the valet preceded, bear- 


13 6 Following the Bait. 

in g a candelabrum lighted in its three or four 
branches. 

Joyeuse was radiant as the flambeau. 

“Oh, have you been shriven?” said he. “I 
stumbled upon a friar at the door! Or did he 
come from Friend Harry to bless Schomberg’s 
sword and take away the bad luck which let it 
defend him ill?” 

One could not be angry with this moth. 

“No, it was not a man holy, except by his 
garb ! He is a reader of the stars.” 

“Oh, a rival of old Ruggieri? It is time we 
had a fortune-teller who would tell one’s fate 
without bad French! With what has the new 
consulter of the spangles on the eternal robe 
had to cheer you?” 

“Nothing. I was looking to read my own 
version there.” 

“I would rather look down — and follow not 
their flight, but that of a marvelously-pretty 
urchin whom I passed in the yard. Faith ! for 


Following the Bait. 137 

plumpness and bloom of cheek it might have 
been young Lady Charolais in boy’s trunks and 
long-nosed shoes; or, at least, the cousin of a 
lady who sends him out on her love errands.” 

“Joyeuse,” continued the count, trying to di- 
rect his gaze upward out of the window, “do you 
believe that, after our quittance with earthly 
friends, we mount aloft by those ladders of 
luster to a dizzy plane to meet friends gone be- 
fore?” 

“What thoughts ! They have never come to 
me ! The stars on the beaker’s brim — the bub- 
bles of mirth on Lesbian lips, the sparkle of 
those stars of the mint — these delight and en- 
thrall me. Why, would you have me deny my 
name, my device? What! would our slogan be 
‘Hilariter! be jolly!’ if I moped and hung on the 
glinting of stars so far out of reach? Be joy- 
ful does for this world; to eat heartily, share 
with friends, laugh with sinners, whose laugh 
is so musical ! As for any other world than that 


138 Following the Bait. 

the Spanish have discovered, a fig! only, I hope 
the people there have no tailors’ bills to foot 
and no tight boots, like these in fashion, to pay 
for, when their rents come to town !” 

St. Megrin, turned from him with pain at the 
jar. He went on musing without seeing him. 

“No doubt we are joined there to those from 
whom we were reft here !” 

“Apropos, if you precede me — and, without 
damping your ardor, Guise is in trim to stick 
some one through for that snub before the king 
— let Quelus know that I settled with the host 
of the Horn of Plenty, and paid for ten masses 
at St. Genevieve’s.” 

“Do you believe that eternity is but another 
name for bliss?” 

“In some case it will be for blistering. That 
is for your opponent. If you do not cut short 
his career, he will, through pride, extend his list 
of atrocities beyond Lucifer’s! But you must 
be going out of your everyday wits! What 


Following the Bait. 139 

deuced language is this? You will sicken even 
the king, who holds forth not so badly in such 
humdrum morality. Or, if you must be mad, 
be so wholly, so that you will walk over the 
body of Lorraine like Orlando Furioso over a 
wind-thrown oak in the forest !” 

‘'You talk best ! I must not be mad.” 

“Come to my rooms — I have received some 
Rhenish wine which the carrier misdescribed as 
‘Neckar’; the ignorant ass should have written 
‘Nectar!’ It is too good for that sour-faced 
Epernon. But haste, for Bussy was dipping his 
mustache in it ; and drop your mien of a 
Huguenot who hears a drinking song. One 
will be saying that you are not afraid of a slash 
or stab, but sorry you have a quarrel so desira- 
ble on hand !” 

“Sorry?” repeated the other, firing up. “I 
throw all off my shoulders! If I should be 
killed, I must carry away the consolation that 
he left his life under my corpse!” 


140 Following the Bait. 

“If I were a sexton, at that, I would run and 
toll the bell for Guise. I consider him dead.” 

He thrust his arm into the loop of his friend’s 
and bore him off in his communicative “hilar- 


CHAPTER IX. 


IN SMOOTH WATERS. 

When Joyeuse and his ward arrived at the 
former’s suite, they were confounded by finding 
the place empty; but they were consoled that 
the same vacancy did not exist in the German 
wine bottles. But they were given no time to 
finish what Bussy had left — in his desire to be 
pot-valiant in meeting the king — by the servant 
hastening to say that he had been called away 
by a page. This messenger, direct from the 
royal master, had added that he was summon- 
ing to the second throneroom all the courtiers, 
by which they were included. 

They were almost the last to arrive. The 
king was established in one of his pre-assem- 
blages, when he was at ease and discussed 
matters with his favorites as an old host with 
his cronies. But this time the reminiscence of 
his previous cohort being defeated by the 


In Smooth Waters. 


142 

Guisard party deepened his foreboding about 
the present series. 

“Be at ease !” said he, loudly, to still his own 
fever — “be quite at ease, for our measures are 
taken. I called for you, Lord Bussy, to restore 
our friendship because of your valorous second- 
ing of our brave St. Megrin.” 

Bussy bowed to the new duke, and then to the 
king. 

“Why did you not come to see me sooner?” 
asked Henry of the favorite. “Gentlemen, my 
mother is to form part of this council. Let her 
be notified that we are present.” 

A page had placed a stool of honor on the 
first elevation of the dais. All stared to see if 
this favor was destined for Bussy or the new- 
made peer. It was for St. Megrin, into whose 
ear, at this convenient place, the monarch 
wished to whisper. 

The queen-mother had come in. There was 
a rumor coming before that the Duke of Guise 
was in the anteroom. 


In Smooth Waters. 143 

St. Megrim, at this, assumed a frown which 
tallied badly with the signal honor done him, 
and which Catherine perceived with inward dis- 
approval. 

Epernon, who had assumed much gravity 
since the astrologer had promised him elevation, 
took the place of the absent secretary. 

Catherine bent forward to converse quietly 
with her son, but this was impossible with St. 
Megrin’s head between. 

“Be easy, mother/’ said Henry, as if he had 
not raised this barrier; “I have given my word 
to conduct this affair like a patriarch of gravity 
and moderation. I have prayed — and ‘God’s 
blessing gained, all else attained.’ ” 

He delighted in these scraps of a profane 
“Logia,” picked up in saturnalia, rather than 
ecclesiastical penetralia. 

In the same martial accoutrements in which 
he had appeared backed by the League, but 
without the city magnates, the Duke of Guise 
returned to his theme. 


*44 


In Smooth Waters. 


With what might pass for modesty, neither he 
nor his antagonist looked fixedly at each other, 
but it was intensity of hate. In one sentiment 
they met — each wished this matter, though so 
important, to be removed from the way of the 
private stroke they contemplated. 

Besides, the king, of whom one was never 
sure, claimed all the ambitious general’s atten- 
tion. It was a conflict of cobra and ichneumon 
— a side glance, and all was lost with the inad- 
vertent one. 

But it was in a pleasant, acquiescent voice 
that the royal Henry spoke : 

“We had the first thought to draw up the act 
arranged about, but we recalled that a some- 
what similar deed was couched by the clerks 
and lawyers for Lord Humieres, what time he 
induced the nobility of Peronne and Picardy to 
put their signatures to it. It could not be bet- 
ter. As for the nomination of the chief, an ar- 
ticle at the foot will cover all amply, and no 


In Smooth Waters. 


145 

doubt you may have some suggestions to make 
about that?” 

Certainly, Guise was ready with suggestions, 
or, more plainly, he had so thoroughly thought 
it over that he had spared the king all worry 
about it. 

Henry thanked him still effusively for the 
kindness, and, as the prince drew out of his 
pages’ budget a writing, he nodded for Epernon 
to take it. 

The baron proceeded to read it aloud, with a 
full voice, to the effect : 

Association made between the Princes, Nobles, Gentry 
and others concerned, as well for the ecclesiastics as the 
noble, of the Land of Picardy. In the first place 

“Pray wait, Epernon,” interrupted the king. 
“We know this statement well, for we have had 
the duplicate. It is useless to read the 
twenty ” 

“Eighteen, to be exact, majesty ” 

“Over-numerous articles which compose it. 
Go straight to the end. And if you will but 


146 In Smooth Waters. 

draw nearer, duke, you can dictate what you 
wish. Reflect what it means to name the head 
for so mighty a congregation ! Such a chief 
will wield great powers.” 

Guise’s face flushed with expectant joy. 

“Cousin, dear, in a word, act as for yourself.” 

This was at the same time plain as pretty 
speaking, as Joyeuse whispered to Halde. 

Henry of Lorraine ought to have suspected 
from the too-agreeable progress and the old 
queen’s ominous silence under her set smile, like 
an experienced actress’, that his captured trust 
was beyond recall. He assured the king that he 
would be content with the outcome. 

The statesmen looked hard at the monarch, 
whose genial serenity disturbed them more than 
a frown or a scowl. But there was no opening 
for an interference. 

Guise was thoughtfully forming his phrases in 
his mind, and as Epernon, taking a fresh dip of 
ink on the crow quill, glanced up for the com- 
mencement, he dictated, with slowness and due 


In Smooth Waters. 147 

emphasis, as follows, the king nodding at every 
pause like a musician beating time to an appre- 
ciated air : 

Primo: The person honored by His Majesty’s choice 
should be issue of a sovereign house, worthy of the affec- 
tion and the trust of the French by his past conduct and 
his faith in the established religion. 

The churchmen bowed, and Henry rattled 
his rosary approvingly. 

Secundo: The title of Lord Lieutenant of the Kingdom 
will be conferred upon him, and the troops will be set 
under his commands. 

He looked at the military men, and they pre- 
served a perfect silence, yet they acknowledged 
the speaker’s warlike worth. The king, as if 
this was not in his province, simply assented by 
silence. 

Tertio: As his actions will only aim at the betterance 
of the sainted cause, he will have none to render account 
to but Heaven and his own conscience. 

The silence was weightier than before, but as 
the royal critic only hemmed and said: “That 
will do,” all breathed freely. 

St. Megrin had been fidgeting on his stool. 


148 In Smooth Waters. 

At this he ventured to bring his lips to the 
king’s ear and murmur : 

“Did you say: ‘Well?’ Can your highness 
approve such conditions so that a man will be 
arrayed with such powers?” 

“Let it pass,” in the same tone. 

“But this will smother your realm with war 
and blood.” 

“Tut, tut, not this chief! Enough, there — 
be still. We wish, be it understood — we desire 
positively that the choice should be convenable 
to you whatever it be. Therefore, as a good and 
loyal subject, cousin, set us an example of sub- 
mission. After me you are the foremost in the 
realm.” 

This was ignoring the Duke of Anjou, and 
the remark made the queen lose her smile. 

“In this case, too, you are interested in my 
being obeyed.” 

This was sailing in such smooth waters that 
Guise did not presume to ruffle it with the least 
objection. In fact, he had never used a more 


In Smooth Waters. 


149 

suave and unctuous accent as he replied, with 
frankness like a blunt soldier : 

“Sire, I acknowledge in advance, as chief of 
the holy union, whomsoever your majesty des- 
ignates, and I shall regard as a rebel” — he 
raised his voice sonorously — “any one who 
braves his orders.” 

“This is handsome, my lord duke,” said the 
king, slyly stroking his own hands, as if smooth- 
ing on a glove. “Write, Epe-non.” 

He stood upon the throne, apart from his 
chair, with much grandeur, self-possession and 
inward satisfaction at having angled, secured 
his fish and brought it under the gaff. 

“Write: ‘We, Henry of Valois, by the grace 
of God King of France and Poland, approve, by 
the present act drawn up by our faithful and be- 
loved cousin, Henry of Lorraine, Duke of 
Guise, the association known as the Holy 
League, and by our authority, declare as the 
chief — our noble selves!” 

Guise gripped his dagger hilt, as habitual with 


150 In Smooth Waters. 

him at being crossed, and faltered through his 
clinched teeth : 

“How now?” 

A subdued ironical laughter made the circuit, 
and Joyeuse, who would have laughed in 
Satan’s beard, chuckled audibly. 

Henry lifted his hand, commandingly, nay, 
imperiously, for none to interrupt him, and went 
on, with his voice quite strong with self-suf- 
ficiency : 

“In token of which, we affix our royal seal!” 

Stepping off the lowest step, and cunningly 
nudging St. Megrin with his knee, in passing 
him, he took the pen from his secretary pro 
tern, continuing: 

“And we sign with our own hand !” 

With probably the firmest strokes his vacil- 
lating hand had ever traced a line, he wrote a 
large : 

“Henry of Valois !” 

Guise seemed to have his eyes seared by this 
line, where he had expected, without any doubt, 


In Smooth Waters. 151 

to have seen “Guise” in lieu of “Valois.” He 
shrank from the pen which the other tendered 
to him with a very steady hand. 

“Your turn,” said the king, with much cun- 
ning, taking great care not to let the least irony 
filter into his tone, “for are you not the next 
comer, first after us?” 

He appeared astonished at the continued 
hesitation. 

“Do you think that the name of the Valois 
and our flower-of-the-lily do not figure as 
worthily at the base of this deed as the name of 
Henry of Guise and the Lorraine blackbirds? 
By the fame of our race ! you only asked for the 
name of the man most endeared to the 
French!” He smiled superciliously and with 
infatuation. “Are we not so beloved?” looking 
around to receive the flattering murmur. 

“Who loves, teases!” said Catherine, to her 
neighbors. 

“Reply according to your heart,” resumed the 
sovereign. “You sought a gentleman of the 


In Smooth Waters. 


152 

highest nobility ! I believe I am as good a gen- 
tleman as any ! Sign, my lord, sign ! for it is you 
said it : He who would not assent to this must 
be a rebel!” 

The duke looked straight at the queen, and 
it was clear that some understanding had once 
existed between her and the Lorraines, for, 
clearly, he now reproached her. The king did 
not seem to perceive this, for he had let his eyes 
fall on the paper, pointing out the blank. He 
indicated the place under his angular, sprawling 
sign-manual. 

The weak king’s favorites had none of them 
looked for this strong hand. Joyeuse irrever- 
ently stood up beside Guise, and as irreverently 
said, like a fellow to another at signing as wit- 
ness a vulgar marriage contract, “After you, my 
lord!” 

A little more and he would have jogged his el- 
bow. 

“Yes, gentlemen, let us all be upon this testi- 
monial to union !” pursued the king, merrily and 


In Smooth Waters. 


153 

with heartiness, more like his brother-king of 
Navarre. “Epernon, see to it that copies of this 
excellent agreement are distributed throughout 
the realm !” 

The temporary secretary could not speak for 
suppressed mirth at the duke’s dismay. He nod- 
ded several times, like a toy mandarin. 

Antraguet made bold to whisper to his lord: 
“Write with their ink until you can write in their 
blood ! Bah ! first shot miss — the next tells 
home !” 

The duke lifted his somewhat fallen crest. 
He shook his helmet so that the feathers seemed 
to curl up against a passing blight. 

He sullenly set his name, passed the pen to 
the eager hand of Joyeuse, and withdrew as 
soon as etiquette permitted it. 

A court official at the door whispered to 
Antraguet, who, in turn, said, covertly, to his 
master: 

“The Duke of Mayenne is in town!” 


154 


In Smooth Waters. 


“Ah, you will take orders from him!” re- 
turned the commander. 

Henry was apologizing to the nobles for the 
long session, at which, more than the others, St. 
Megrin had chafed. “It is decidedly dull as com- 
pared with a masked ball, but lay all the blame 
of it on the shoulders of our cousin of Guise! 
He forced me into it! Fare thee well, duke of 
my bosom — lord of my heart!” he called out. 
“Cease not to look after the state interests, 
like the good and leal subject you show your- 
self ! And never forget that whomsoever obey- 
eth not the chief whom we appointed will be de- 
clared guilty of high treason! Upon which, I 
abandon ye to the keeping of God on high ! All 
may go!” 

He made a gesture for St. Megrin to remain. 
He went to his mother, as the pages took her 
train, and added, quietly: 

“Did I carry it off nicely?” 

“Yes, son; but do not forget that I ” 


In Smooth Waters. 155 

“No, no, or, should I do so, you will please 
jog- my mind !” 

The courtiers followed out the duke, and ab- 
stained from any whispering which might add 
petty nips to the severe pinch under which his 
breast was turning black. 

St. Megrin had obeyed the royal hint with ir- 
ritation. He was ordered to linger, and his 
lady-love had set him a mission of consequence. 
He was like one of those mariners who wish to 
speed with the tide, but some siren under the 
wave strives to detain, to divert and bear him 
away in another direction. 

On being surely alone, Henry let his laugh 
find vent without any restraint. Few had heard 
him thus frank in his real feeling. 


CHAPTER X. 


FORWARD TO LOVE AND DEATH. 

“Well, my bosom Saint ! have I not fully prof- 
ited by your friendly counsel?” said he. “I have 
dethroned the king of Paris and the old creed, 
and behold me, chief of the Leaguers in his 
stead !” 

“May you never repent it, sire ! but this idea 
did not come from this quarter, or of your own 
impulse ” 

“No! It is from — oh, you may cite the 
mother-wit of our family!” 

“Yes, I recognize her wily policy!” 

“You are not widely out, sir — for, in faith,” 
said the hypocrite, “I am all sincerity and 
straightforwardness by myself. She believes 
that she gains everything when she gains time. 
I suspect that she has a club up her sleeve for 
the Duke of Guise. I heard her call him, in 
her sweetest voice, ‘her friend!’ That was 


Forward to Love and Death. 157 

ominous ! I saw that you put your hand to the 
document with regret !” 

“I? Not at all! Rather, you hesitated, al- 
most like the duke! 

“Yet you were monarch — now you are but 
chief of a party!” 

“Henry of Navarre would give his left hand 
to be in my place. What else was to be done?” 

“Cast aside all this policy out of the Floren- 
tine merchants’ books, and act openly !” 

“In what manner — be precise — be open your- 
self!” 

“Like a king! that is A-B-C! If you lack 
proofs of the under-play of this plotting lord, I 
will furnish them — and before twenty-four 
hours pass!” 

“If I have them, I, as pilot of the ship of 
state, will punish all for the mutiny!” 

“With them in hand, you would try and 
judge him?” 

“I should have to do so with a royally-ap- 
pointed tribunal, for the Parliament is all for 


158 Forward to Love and Death, 

him. They would not do him the unkindness 
to hale him before their bar!” 

“Then on the Parliament impose the power 
of your will! The Bastile has strong walls, 
deep and wide moats, and a faithful governor. 
Put Lord Guise inside it, and let him be 
brought out to the execution-yard, in the steps 
of Marshals Montmorency and Cosse !” 

“Tut, tut, no walls are stout enough, no 
ditches deep enough, to keep in such a pris- 
oner !” 

“Who follow the raven must come to ruin !” 

“Ruins of the Bastile, perhaps — all Paris is 
a great mass — they could fill up the moats and 
pile up under the ramparts so that one could 
step off upon the battlements!” 

“There are too many Henrys at a time!” 
persisted St. Megrin. 

“My young friend, I do not know anything 
that would weigh down that restless frame but 
a wrapper of lead and a press-board of granite ! 
It is for you, since you are bound by your 


Forward to Love and Death. 159 

challenge, to make him fit and ripe for shroud 
and bier! I then charge myself with the roll- 
ing out of the leaden sheet and the building of 
the stone coffin!” 

“If I kill him as a gentleman should, he will 
be punished, but not as he merits!” 

“Pish! little matters the inadequacy of your 
means, as long as the result is the same !” said 
the Valois, carelessly. For this little display of 
energy had exhausted his scant stock of virility. 
“Talking of your combat, I hope that you have 
neglected nothing in the way of meet prepara- 
tions ?” 

“Well, no, sire, for the material, but,” with 
some halting, for he knew that his master was 
a stickler for pious precautions at times, “I 
have been engrossed in thoughts which pre- 
clude religious duties, although they turn on 
the utmost virtue and grace.” 

“You have not found time for that?” said 
Henry, in a doleful voice. “Have you not 


l6o Forward to Love and Death, 


learned, by my example, to resist mundane 
pleasures, and crown your life?” 

“So short a time under your model,” stam- 
mered the courtier. 

“It is true — you were not here to witness the 
duel of Jarnac and Chataignerie! What a 
loss ! It was fierce, and all went awry because 
both did not attend prayers!” 

“I thought that one dealt the other a foul 
stroke!” objected the count. 

“Let me tell you! The battle was set for a 
fortnight after the defiance. Jarnac passed 
the time in prayers, while Chataignerie spent 
the time in futile pastimes, without thinking 
that the angels do nothing more than play the 
viol de gamba and the violin, as in Fra Angel- 
ico’s paintings, of which I am promised two 
masterpieces, by the Holy Father, by the by! 
Well, he was punished out of the skies, my 
poor, inattentive St. Megrin!” 

“Why, I thought, as all say, that Jarnac the 
pious cut him below the belt — that is to say, 


Forward to Love and Death. 161 


hamstrung him, as a clodpoll does a steed with 
his hedge-knife! It was not a thunderbolt — 
Jove’s eagle would have been ashamed of such 
a blow of his beak in that quarter!” 

“At all events, Jarnac very properly paid for 
candles to his saint, in perpetuity!” 

“Sire, at least, I am contrite!” 

“I fear that, contrition being a virtue, is all 
the virtue you will die with, at this rate !” 

“I try to do my duty to my king, my love and 
my saint ! But the first I placed, is the first to 
appeal to me, to command me — I must confuse 
your enemies, sire!” 

“What! set me foremost?” said the king, 
weakening and protesting, in false modesty. 

“Sire, I am but an instrument in the holy 
hands — now, if I have been chosen to be the 
battering-beam to procure the downfall of your 
greatest opponent, Heaven’s will be done!” 

“That sounds very pretty and falls soft on 
my ear, but what are you talking about, my 


1 6a Forward to Love and Death. 


lord? Your existence since I made you prince 
of the court belongs to the State !” 

“My lord, I thought that I had the honor to 
assert that I hope this night, almost this hour, 
to wrest from traitorous hands the secrets 
which will overturn the Duke of Guise ! More 
to be dreaded than Henry of Navarre is — that 
hero of the unveiled tented field ! I must repay 
the rank and other boons I owe to my king 
and my master in the best way offered me !” 

“You are speaking aptly. To be sure, if you 
were acting on your own business, you ought 
not to get rashly killed off-hand! And the 
more, if you are acting for the State, we must 
beseech you to take every care to be successful 
without loss of life! A useful man must be 
often useful. What, would be the good of 
changing a sword because it once served well?” 

“I have more than one reason for selling my 
skin dearly; believe that, sire!” 

“I doubt not that you will do your best. I 


Forward to Love and Death. 163 

wish that you and Bussy would cross swords a 
little time for practice!” 

“I must attend to my devotions, if I get a 
moment,” said St. Megrin, with the royal 
whine. 

“You jackanapes!” pinching him by the ear. 
“To do your best is not enough against a camp 
terror like that Guise! We will make him take 
oath at the altar not to be shielded by secret 
mail, talisman or charms. That rogue Rug- 
gieri has had a visit of his lately, and it was to 
deal in deviltry, I’ll be bound! When we get 
him thus disarmed, gather up all your nerves, 
sinews, and courage and, ha! push at him!” 
He imitated the thrust of a sword, with his arm 
extended and his hand flat, and added, with a 
ghastly smile: 

“Be expeditious, for his death is expedient.” 

St. Megrin bowed his head. 

“He is in the way of many, my lord!” 

“Once delivered of that stumbling block, do 


164 Forward to Love and Death. 

you see, count, there will no longer be two 
Lords of Paris ! I shall be veritably the ruler !” 

“In and about Paris,” said the favorite ; ‘'but 
as for the country ” 

“Oh, Henry, the Captain? I will make him 
my captain-general, and he will be content. 
Henry is not a grasping, greedy plotter! Pie 
hates and he loves aboveboard ! Oh, we 
would be good brothers if that brother Francis 
of mine had not come between !” 

“He is thrust between !” ventured the other. 

“Oh, the queen-mother? It is true — she 
adores that scapegrace of the Valois! But 
she will esteem me now because I disembarrass 
her of these Lorraines! And so she will like 
you for actually plying the broom which 
sweeps the palace clear of them and their webs ! 
That advice to counter on him did emanate 
from her, and she will do anything for me on 
account of this my obedience!” 

“Sire, I am happy; you may tell her majesty 


Forward to Love and Death. 165 

that my sword can be of service at the same 
time to her.” 

“That is pertinent. We will try that sword 
of yours, and your arm.” 

He rang a bell suspended by a cord from the 
wall. 

A servant instantly opened a door. 

“Call Lord Halde,” said Henry, “and let sev- 
eral pair of sound foils be brought with him.” 

“Foils,” repeated the favorite, “at this hour, 
when your majesty has need of repose?” 

“Repose ! Repose ! Do you din me with 
that owl’s cry? Repose! Do you believe that 
I get any sleep between Guise hammering up 
recruits at every door in Paris and Henry of 
Navarre singing psalms of deliverance at every 
cottage door in the South ! I wager that neither 
of them do much slumbering! Or if they 
doze, they dream! Shall I tell you of what 
those two Henrys dream? Of snatching the 
crown off my head, on which it is riveted, I be- 
lieve, by the pangs its thorns give me! Sleep! 


1 66 Forward to Love and Death. 


They themselves see that I can rest nowhere 
unless it is in a monastery ! I like the quiet of 
the monastery, but my doctor has assured me 
that monotony would be my death, and I am 
only fickle, frivolous, and irregular in my at- 
tendance at chapel because I require variety! 
A king gets no sleep, my brand-new duke, and 
the born dukes will tell you the same. Is Halde 
never coming with those irons?” 

St. Megrin imitated the king by pacing the 
room with enfevered steps. He thought of 
the clandestine session, and that, perhaps, the 
writer of the denunciation was even now wait- 
ing at the door of which he had the key to let 
him in. He stamped his foot, stopped, and 
clapping his hand to his head, said, impatiently : 

“Sire, you recall me to my duty. I see that 
I must go to the midnight mass at St. Sulpice’s. 
My preparations should be accomplished in 
that holy fane.” 

“Never mind the fencing lesson, then, but it 
is a pity.” 


Forward to Love and Death. 167 

The door opened, but Halde was turned to 
stone on the threshold by an imperative ges- 
ture, and had to retire, with his page carrying 
a sheaf of fencing tools, like a bird of Jupiter 
with his electric arrows. 

“Hark!” 

The innumerable bells of Paris were, with 
more or less concord, repeating the stroke of 
twelve. 

“It is midnight.” 

“Alas! if all is not too late, it is midnight!” 
sighed St. Megrin. 

“I will myself go and pray.” 

“All need it — I, not least of all your true 
servants.” 

“As far as the holy chrism sanctifies me, I 
bless you, my son,” and Henry spoke kindly, 
if not paternally. “We must part, but you shall 
come to me on the morrow. I have a marsh- 
pike, a pogge out of the St. Germain ponds, 
stuffed with breadcrumbs and chopped leeks, 


i68 Forward to Love and Death. 


which But since Halde had swords, if he 

escorts you, eh?” 

“I must execute my mission alone.” 

“Mission?” 

“I mean go to the place of communion 
alone.” 

“I rely on you everywhere. You have not 
been spoilt by the lures of the town. You are 
not entangled by a Delilah. Act for the fear of 
God and the glory of the king.” 

“For your weal, my lord. I am glad that I 
satisfy my king.” 

“Yes, the king is so, and your friend must 
be so. Here.” He drew the knight toward 
him and, glancing about furtively to be sure no 
one perceived that he would fortify his cham- 
pion as he sought to prohibit the adversary 
from being protected, he went on, throwing 
over his neck a gold chain, with a small box at 
the end. “This is a fragment of the true cross, 
direct from Rome. Joyeuse brought it, and I 
do not think he would, if he had lost it, have 


Forward to Love and Death. 169 

substituted a piece of willow cut at the wayside 
for it. Oh, that has been done! Well, Pope 
Gregory assures me that the wearer cannot 
die of fire, iron or the pest. You can return it 
to me after you defeat the enemy.” 

“If it is so potent, I would not deprive you 
for a moment.” 

“I ? Oh, I am not in danger. It is only des- 
pots that are threatened.” 

“Oh, you are an overkind master,” said the 
count, sincerely. 

“Hold it ; there may be an honest friend, even 
under the royal mantle.” 

He gave him the embrace as to a knight about 
starting on his most dangerous deed of daring. 

“Wait,” said he, “and I will send you a part- 
ing cup of Alicante wine.” 

St. Megrin did not intend to wait for this non- 
essential favor. He hurried to his rooms, 
where his man had a dress ready, under which 
he might traverse the dark and unsafe streets. 

“Haste, George, haste,” he kept saying. 


170 Forward to Love and Death. 

“If you are going out, shall I send for a por- 
ter’s chair?” 

“No ; I must make short cuts to reach my des- 
tination swiftly. Oh, I have lost so much time.” 

“The streets will be fraught with footpads !” 

“Not at all. It looks squally; those un- 
washed dogs will not face old Januarius, who 
might clean them with a dash from his urn.” 

“If you have a good horse. I know the 
groom of the stables.” 

“A horse? I must leap all the street chains, 
then! No, I go afoot!” 

He looped up his boot tops with the thong 
provided for the purpose, and tied them se- 
curely. 

“If I go along, with a good arquebuse from 
the guardroom?” 

“The rain will put out the match.” 

“I can carry a cutlass!” 

“Your anxiety is out of place ! I have a dag- 
ger along with my fighting sword, which was 
poor Schomberg’s ! It is strong and heavy.” 


Forward to Love and Death. 17 1 

George had gone to look out of the window. 

“Strange,” said he ; “you may not be without 
fellow foot passengers. Look ! doors open cov- 
ertly ; shadows issue and flit along as if going to 
the Witches’ Sabbath.” He signed himself over 
the breast with his crossed fingers. 

“Oh, ho ! it is a meeting of good citizens who 
run to congratulate the Duke of Guise on being 
made lieutenant of the League!” 

“Oh, if that is all!” 

“Stay!” He drew the servant’s knife-of-all- 
work from his girdle and cut off his right love- 
lock. He tied it with a piece of his cuff rib- 
bon and said, as he laid this on the table: 

“If I return no more, give this to a little rosy- 
cheeked page who came here this day, and is, I 
think, sure to return for news of me, if I am not 
home in a few days. Where is my dun cloak?” 

George wrapped him up and left play for 
drawing the sword. 

“I am sorry you must go out, my dear young 
master! There will be sad grief at St. Megrin 


17a Forward to Love and Death. 

if you are not seen there with a bride, as all 
believe you should bear thither out of this ac- 
cursed den of thieves. The night will be terri- 
ble!” 

Indeed, black clouds were heaping up over 
Montmarte, and a shed of lightning now and 
then showed how thick it was. 

“Do not hang on to my cloak. I am late as it 
is — perhaps, all too late ” 

“Oh, if I might follow you !” 

“Stay! Look to your own nose, sirrah!” 

“My master, those shadows are highway- 
men ! They will peel you white and take doub- 
let and hose !” 

“Bah ! when one steers for the mark I have in 
sight,” said the gallant at the door, still repuls- 
ing him, “weather is nothing — the good prow 
beats through !” 

“Woe!” moaned the faithful servant. “But 
the young will rub the velvet off their horns! 
They will ” 

“Up ! Do not make a praying desk of a joint 


Forward to Love and Death. 173 

stool!” cried a merry voice, as Joyeuse, at the 
head of a trail of other gallants, bounded into 
the room. “Halloa ! ho ! where is your invisible 
prince?” 

George explained that the count had gone 
forth alone, and “as fast as if for thieving.” 

“What a miss !” cried Bussy, who was of the 
throng; “I counted on him!” 

“What is it now?” asked Halde, who came 
up breathless from having been detained on the 
king’s errand, frustrated, as we know. 

“Why, the sounding of midnight seemed a 
signal. The burghers are pouring out to offer 
their condolements, for all I know, to their 
snubbed leader! Henry so cleverly supplanted 
him ! Antraguet slipped out in his track, mut- 
tering that we should repay for our deriding 
him and his master ! Boys, I foresee that 
there may be fun in disturbing their wailing. 
Who is with me for a prowl?” 

“I,” said St. Luc. “I am not going to let my 


174 Forward to Love and Death. 

brother saint, Megrin, have all the fun of the 
street brawls to himself !” 

“Muster the servants! Arm! arm!” 

“And,” said the prudent Epernon, rubbing 
the ink off his finger ends from his unaccus- 
tomed clerical labors, “not so much noise ! Tell 
the king’s gentleman-of-the-night that we are 
gone to the midnight mass at St. Over-the- 
hills !” 

Silently, therefore, as those vague forms 
which St. Megrin and his valet had seen pass in 
the streets, this party glided out of the wicket of 
the river gate and betook themselves on the 
traces of their friend. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE DECOY DOVE. 

It was very well for the king’s favorites — in 
the night gloom and from a high window — to 
take for good citizens, though of warlike habits, 
those who walked the streets around the place 
at midnight. 

St. Megrin, descended to the level, could 
judge them more accurately. 

They were not even the gutter-searchers and 
gypsies who lurked for remnants, but men gath- 
ering like vultures for one intention, and that a 
feast to the liking of birds of carnage. 

They were badly dressed, but their clothing 
was military after the miscellaneous fashion 
when each raiser of a regiment clothed his com- 
panies as best his credit among drapers and ac- 
coutrement-makers permitted. Their coats 
were tattered and patched, their armor incom- 
plete and past burnishing; but their weapons 


176 The Decoy Dove. 

were in excellent order, as befitted what was not 
only to guard the owners’ lives, but earn them a 
meal. 

As for the lodgings, they did not sleep at 
night, and such pothouses as were their daily 
resort, furnished straw for debauches to be slept 
off upon. 

For a while, the adventurer did not pay them 
any more heed than they gave him. For, in his 
sober attire, and carrying a long sword, they 
might, without any stretch of the imagination, 
assume he was of their kind. 

But as he approached New Soissons House, 
he perceived some relations established between 
these men, apparently marching to a rendez- 
vous and loungers at the corners, who kept 
aloof from the city watch and who exchanged 
watchword and answer with the passers. 

“They are Guiseards, and there is a congress 
this night! As they are wending their way, 
with easy pads, like wolves, I conjecture that 
there is plenty of time.” 


The Decoy Dove. 177 

Nevertheless, he did not view the prospect 
with equanimity, since these carriers openly of 
forbidden weapons, such as mort-axes (death- 
axes), partisans, bills, and even two-handed 
swords, promised that the spy discovered, amid 
a meeting, would be hacked to pieces, instead 
of being put in prison to abide an examination. 

“Guise is kinging it already,” thought he. 

Prudently, therefore, he made the entire cir- 
cuit of the blorck of buildings, very disconnected 
or coupled with irregular flying buttresses and 
arches, beams which might be withdrawn, and 
ropes which, used in peace times for the bleach- 
ing of linen, might, in war times, hang an 
enemy or lower a fugitive to the street. 

A few lights sparkled in the upper part of the 
new mansion, where the servants were telling 
stories or playing cards with caution, as became 
the hour; it was shuttered and curtained almost 
hermetically elsewhere. As for the old build- 
ing, except where a red fire glowed at a crevice 
or two and denoted that Ruggieri’s furnace kept 


178 The Decoy Dove. 

up the unflagging heat to cook “the philoso- 
pher’s stone,” it had the same obscurity and 
loneliness. The turn-again lane was black as the 
throat of one of those enormous dragons which 
artists represent as the entrance to the infernal 
regions. 

Still shadows crossed one another in its 
depths, and the cavalier judged that they were 
keeping a kind of watch. 

At one place only was there abnormal vivac- 
ity. 

A corner of Old Soissons House, uncon- 
nected with that left off to the magician, as well 
it might be, since its employment was foreign 
to his grave and lofty studies, blazed at the 
bottom if gloomy at the top. 

It was a little wineshop, dignified, after the 
hours when the taverns closed under the police 
regulations, by having the insatiable topers and 
homeless revelers swarm to it as the sole shelter 
in that ward. 

It had no name, but a signpost, never adorned 


The Decoy Dove. 179 

with a signboard, bore a bush — in contradiction 
to the old saying that “Good wine needs no 
bush. ,, 

Good or bad, as regards its cellar, it had a 
roaring fire — not to warm by, but to cook what 
the customers, for the most part, brought under 
their arms, as to a thieves’ kitchen. It had 
candles which a chandler would have pro- 
nounced cast for church uses. And the fireplace 
was ample to accommodate the pieces of meat 
and fowl which the vagrants watched cooking 
and stood ready to guard if a rascal pretended 
that he had confided the bone of contention to 
the cook and his aid. 

Into this drinking hole — it was little better — 
the men whom St. Megrin had observed to fol- 
low his own path, dropped one by one, but only 
to drink, whereupon, looking to their weapons 
while in the vivid light, they stole out, pairing 
off now and betaking themselves to pre-ar- 
ranged resorts. 


180 The Decoy Dove. 

The lane sheltered them, no doubt, imme- 
diately after this refreshment. 

Twice the count passed this busy meeting- 
place, and the second time he fancied that a man 
of superior costume was paying coin to the ruf- 
fians. This was done liberally, to judge by the 
grin on the faces, and he muttered : 

“This does not seem to be natural enthusiasm 
for the League that he is kindling. Ah, grease 
the wheels well and one may travel far!” 

As yet he could only suppose that a con- 
venticle of the holy cause was to be attended 
by the men. 

“It will be no fool’s work to enter into their 
midst, if these be their outposts,” thought he. 
“Luckily, I expect to have a pass, and I have the 
key — only, how find the door to suit this key?” 

Again making the entire circuit, concluding 
that the tavern, the lane or even Ruggieri’s hall 
would hardly be the seat of this convocation, 
he paused at the south side of the new mansion. 

A capacious carriage gateway showed that 


The Decoy Dove. 181 

the architect, a foreseeing man, had planned for 
vehicles which would be wider than the hand 
or hose litter still fashionable, or rather com- 
pulsory by the narrowness of the old streets. 

Here, in the fixed attitude of a fakir or a man 
of the time who was doing penance by inaction 
before a road cross, a figure in a cloak was 
standing, vaulted over by the arch. It was not 
tall and was so rounded that it occurred to him 
that it might be the page who had visited him in 
the Louvre. 

But, on approaching with a warning cough, 
he found out his mistake. It was a woman. 

An old woman, too, or wearing a gray wig, 
for he saw that the hair under a jeweled head- 
dress was lined with white. 

This figure, man or woman, looked at him 
with intent eyes. He had no doubt that he was 
expected to speak, but he saw at the instant 
some one at the top of the street. He used the 
utmost caution, and, as the only token common 
to him and his mysterious correspondent — 


1 8a 


The Decoy Dove. 


whom as yet he could only surmise about — he 
held up the key accompanying the missive. 

This seemed satisfactory, for the figure 
rapped ostentatiously at a little door shaped in 
the large double one. Then, as if her errand 
was done, she slipped away so smartly that he 
believed had he taken his eyes off her for a sec- 
ond he would have lost all trace. 

He walked up to the door, reasoning that her 
soft knocking would be the signal for some one 
within to open it. It was an error. It had not 
moved; at a shake it did not budge. But he 
perceived a keyhole at the level of his breast, 
to which his key might fitly be applied. 

Indeed, it fitted. 

He thrust it in and looked around to see if his 
act was approved. But the mysterious figure 
had vanished, and in the stead stood two of 
those soldiers of “Lord IcannotelFs corps.” 

Not wishing to be challenged now at the 
threshold of a possible inlet to the labyrinth, he 
turned the key, which acted like a charm, and 


The Decoy Dove. 183 

pushed the panel open enough for him to slide 
through. 

He closed it sharply, and, though it was bad 
policy thus to cut off communication with the 
outer world, he fastened it with a swing bar 
in the teeth of the two men. They marched 
past, without having noticed how he had disap- 
peared, if they had been conscious of his pres- 
ence. 

He examined his refuge. 

It ought to have been the yard, but the tim- 
bers and stones were lying about to finish the 
works. He was in a kind of workshop, and at 
the inner end was the wall of the main building, 
of fresh-cut yellow stone, out of the St. Denis 
quarries. 

He found there that a door, temporarily con- 
structed while a famous one in carved oak would 
replace it, was left ajar — no doubt, for his ben- 
efit. 

There was no doubt ; he was expected. The 
rest was left to his instinct if no other guide was 


184 The Decoy Dove, 

furnished. He appreciated the delicacy of the 
betrayer, who did not care to be found in his 
company if he was discovered prematurely. 

“It is in Soissons House that the meeting- 
will be held,” he pondered. “Very likely; the 
Countess of Montafix is kin to the Lorraines. 
It is odd, though, that at the same time as this 
denunciation is confided to me, the Princess of 
Porcian should be under the same rooftree !” 

This name on his lips inspired him to more 
venturesomeness. 

He opened the door and passed through it. 
As he closed it, he heard at the wineshop this 
precious contribution to the ballads of the day 
— quite a different vein to his friend, Ronsard’s : 

“The spry hand, the sly hand — 

That’s my hand in thy hand! 

Can win o’er the high hand, 

On ocean or dry land! 

Noel! my boys!” 

“If what I learn lodges them where they 
ought to lay their limbs, they will pipe another 
tune!” 


The Decoy Dove. 185 

Dismissing the bullies from his mind, since 
he was committed to the following up of this 
maze, he walked on in the dark, boldly, as if he 
were furnished with the Pope’s Salvus-conductus, 
confirmed by the Duke of Guise, probably more 
efficacious on a safe conduct in this region than 
his royal master’s. 

Presently he was rewarded for his persever- 
ance; he was in the fully-inhabited part of the 
mansion. It is true that no persons were 
about, but there were signs of many servants be- 
ing here at the proper hours. 

Corridors were faintly illumined by night- 
lights, wicks floating in bowls of tallow which 
their own heat turned into oil. He accounted 
for the absence of life by thinking that the con- 
course would be in the hall, and that the serv- 
ant’s not enlisted in the League would be sent to 
their quarters in the attic. 

But there was nothing to detain him on the 
ground floor. He divined that in the cellars 
there would be no other attraction. He went 


The Decoy Dove. 


1 86 

up the second stairs, not venturing- on the grand 
one, in the course of decorations, for the 
painter’s scaffolding was still up. 

Here was the true house, the castle in a dwell- 
ing of mediaeval buildings; hard to reach, save 
by the stairs, easily defended against a host. 

It was complete — hall, chapel, dining and sit- 
ting-room, boudoir, storerooms, and a draw well 
in a nook for supply of water out of an ever- 
flowing well. 

In this hall was no doubt the place of gath- 
ering. If he could but get in at its gallery, he 
might hear all without being suspected. 

Was this the sagacious plan of his correspon- 
dent and was he right in disbelieving that love, 
save indirectly, had a hand in the invitation ? 

As he stood in doubt a scent was whiffed on 
the air. It was so different from the usual reek 
of the low-burning lamps that he was gratified ; 
but, what was more, he had recognized the odor. 
It was that from the smelling-bottle of the 
Princess of Porcian. At an era when each 


The Decoy Dove. 187 

high dame had a perfumer in her suite, or, at 
least, in her wages, and each prided herself on 
one or the other of the changes rung upon 
musk or civet, he might conclude that this 
aroma betrayed the proximity of the lady. 

He felt his heart dilate; he forgot what was 
his errand; he darted briskly upon this trail, 
and, finding it left him at a door, was nearly 
inclined to put his shoulder to it and enter by 
main force. 

Luckily, his ardor had not yet consumed all 
his prudence. 

Certainly, the door had a keyhole, but the 
hangings within forbade an inspection of its in- 
terior. But the door was high — so high that 
the joiner had failed to attempt to make the 
panels reach all the height. Above it was, 
therefore, a little cross window, movable for 
shutting off the cold air in winter. 

St. Megrin saw a footstool for the groom at 
the door to rest upon. Stood upon one end, it 
enabled him, standing upon it, to reach this 


1 88 


The Decoy Dove, 


cross window. He did so, pried it with his dag- 
ger, opened it on its two horizontal hinges, and, 
with the dagger, cut a slit in the tapestry imped- 
ing a look beyond. 

He uttered an exclamation of surprise and 
joy. 

He slid to the floor and muttered : 

“It is she ! It is the princess !” 

It was she ! It was the lure ! Poor amorous 


pigeon ! 


CHAPTER XII. 


BELEAGUERED. 

As soon as Therine, Princess of Porcian, 
could cherish no doubt as to her being- a pris- 
oner in Soissons House, she mourned in secret. 
She dismissed everybody but her page, and only 
believed in him because he was a blood relative. 
Lady Cosse was discarded by her in a twinkling, 
for she saw that cupidity could make the senile 
creature betray youth and innocence for a pal- 
try bribe. She believed that her letters to her 
father were intercepted. She feared that the 
enmity of Queen Catherine to the Duke of 
Guise did not lead a fair inference that she 
would busy herself for the foreigner of a race 
antipathetical to hers. 

She felt so isolated that the absence of Arthur 
deepened her woe, much as the castaways de- 
spair when the last friend has been dispatched 
on a forlorn hope for succor. 


190 


Beleaguered. 


So shortly, like a flower blasted by a sirocco, 
her charms appeared to flee. If health and 
mirth make beauty, then both these qualities 
were no longer hers. Mirth she did not try to 
call to her aid. It had fled the place, to lurk in 
the low drinking-place, from which she caught 
snatches of rollicking song and the clink of cups. 

Health? She feared that would not long 
cling to her in this miserable state — a gilded 
prison. She saw she was incorrigibly pale, and 
that her brilliant gaze had become daunted and 
apt to lower. Her reverie was more miserable 
than her looking at the figures on the old arras, 
which presented elongated figures of hunters 
and naiads. 

She had heard the servants whisper about a 
flight into the country, since there was a fore- 
cast of Paris delivered to the renewal of massa- 
cres for disputed creeds. In the country, still 
stranger to her than the town, she would be 
more than ever in the power of her betrothed. 

Her last hope had fled in the ball being post- 


Beleaguered. 191 

poned, for she had determined to appeal to the 
ambassador from the Prussian provinces, which 
included her father's domain ; to the first knight 
of the Teutonic Order; to the king or his gal- 
lants, whom she knew were hostile to her 
tyrant. 

Now she was hopelessly immured, and her re- 
moval to another hold could not be resisted. 

If she could correspond with that Count of 
St. Megrin ! but her only confidant, Arthur, had 
incurred the ill will of her lord, and, he, no 
doubt, would never be suffered to approach her 
again. 

Ruggieri, her neighbor — but she shrank from 
suing to that magi, whose horrid fellowship with 
the hated queen was famed throughout Europe. 

She did not stretch out her hand to have a 
murderer’s lead her out of even so burdensome 
a captivity. 

She was drawn out of her melancholy mood 
by the striking on the church bells and the 
vague cry of the watchman. 


192 Beleaguered. 

“Half-after-twelve of the night!” said she, 
suppressing a tide of tears as she remembered 
how peacefully she would have been slumber- 
ing at home in her little white chamber on the 
banks of the Rhine ; “how slowly the time drags, 
and yet I hate to lay down to court the rest 
which can never more be mine.” 

She was too proud to question the servants. 
She did not even look at those who entered for 
the regular duties. Lady Cross, offended by 
her overt treatment since she suspected her of 
double play, had prudently quitted her — forever, 
she hoped. 

• She had nothing to base any supposition 
upon; all she remembered was the Duke of 
Guise’s dictation, based upon a meeting of his 
association in the neighborhood. 

If, in spite of her refusal to write the decoy 
letter, it had been done by another hand, the 
Count of St. Megrin would by this have entered 
the trap. 

“How vile is this prince?” reasoned she. “Is 


Beleaguered. 193 

he capable of rushing into my presence to tell 
me that the dripping blade he held was dyed 
in that gentleman’s blood?” 

So far, continued silence left her room for this 
fruitless sort of conjecture. 

Then the storm overhanging Paris began to 
weigh on this quarter. She was nervous 
though it was not her nature. She had aches 
and pains without any cause or her ability to lo- 
cate them. If she sat down, she was up and 
pacing the floor again and leaning at the closed 
window without caring if the blinds blocked the 
view or not. Only the distant lightning pierced 
them. But the boom of the thunder did not 
alarm her so much as the ignorance of what was 
going on concerning, not her, but the champion. 

As for her oratory, with its shrine and pray- 
ing stand, it offered no refuge — it would be no 
sanctuary, she believed, to the Duke of Guise, 
who was one of those bigots who shaped an idol 
to his ends — with his dagger, if need be. 

In the midst of this fluctuating, yet acute, anx- 


194 Beleaguered. 

iety, she heard steps very faintly, but audible, at 
her door. She heard more noise at that door, 
the thin partition between her and this flimsy 
privacy! She looked up, and a glittering eye 
met hers, on high, in a rent of the tapestry. 

More than the woman was roused in her — the 
insulted princess! She caught up a toilet pin 
and stood on guard. This door, fastened 
against her going out, opened more with force 
than skill, for St. Megrin had forgotten that 
he had been furnished with a master key — that 
is, as locks were much of the same pattern, the 
key he had would have opened this lock also. He 
had burst in, with the help of his dagger sever- 
ing the bolt. 

At this sight, too desirable to have been 
hoped for, her feelings were commingled so 
that she could appreciate none alone. Dismay, 
relief, apprehension, doubt, joy, grief ! 

On his part, he could only thank his good 
star, of which Ruggieri had not vaunted half the 


Beleaguered. 195 

potency — this had guided him, spite of error, to 
her retreat. 

“Let me hear your voice?” appealed he; “let 
me hear you give your welcome?” 

“My voice? Oh, that can be used only to 
urge you to go away!” holding out both arms 
as to thrust him off. 

“I was mad to believe in that international 
bombast — a conspiracy? Yet how could I be- 
lieve in such rapture being mine?” 

“Sir, regard your dire strait ! If you opened 
that door, you can open others! Open them 
all and make away!” she said, lowering her 
voice, because the door was still open. 

“Rash that I am !” He ran back and shut it. 
Then, perceiving a pair of firedogs at the fire- 
place, he lifted them, one in each hand, al- 
though massive iron and bronze, and wedged 
them against the closed door. 

“Oh, will you not listen to me?” 

“Forever! it is what I came to do,” said he. 


196 Beleaguered. 

about to place himself on a hassock at her trem- 
bling feet. 

“Do you not understand that the murderers 
let you come in but to immolate us together? 
Together! for your being with me would justify 
the bullet or the blow! Fly while you may! 
And yet by what way? for death is in every cor- 
ner you were let pass! The assassins are 
posted everywhere !” 

She imagined that she saw, with the clairvoy- 
ant’s eye, the hidden slayers. 

He threw down his cap, and ran his hand 
through his hair. The lock which he had shorn 
to leave a love token for her bristled up. He 
was afraid for the first time in his life, but not for 
himself. 

It was not even his honor that was at stake, 
but hers ! 

He stared, stupified. 

“What wild words are these on your lips? 
‘Assassin !’ and ‘death !’ ” 

“Will you not hear me and dismiss this sense- 


Beleaguered. 197 

less delirium? In Heaven’s name, will you not 
understand that this is not a question of life — 
yours or mine? You have been lured into an 
infernal plot ! They will take your life, -but they 
will take my fair fame !” 

“They will kill me and not you ?” 

“No, they wish to send me home, flouted, 
scorned, to my father and my mother! Am I 
to cross the Blue River like a trullion — whipped 
on the ferryboat before all the neighbors?” 

“A lure! Was not the letter of denunciation 
of treason penned by you?” 

Her look of surprise and pain should have 
been her answer in full, but she said impres- 
sively : 

“None such was from me.” She showed her 
arm, black and blue. “No brutality, no torture, 
no violence forced me to write a word !” 

The noble shuddered to see the bruise on the 
white arm, and then a glow of fire spread over 
him. Had the inflicter of that hurt been before 


198 Beleaguered. 

him, he would have slain him at the foot of the 
crucifix of that praying-desk. 

“Some other wrote the note — but the duke 
laid down the words.” 

St. Megrin tore up the paper, and set his 
foot on the shreds. 

“It was by the duke, and I believed it — he 
thereby decoyed me not to a love-meeting, but 
to one of plotters against my king! And yet, 
why should I have believed that this lady would 
betray her lord? It could not be for love of 
me !” 

“Now that you know all,” said she, recover- 
ing her previous alarm, “you must flee, you 
see ! Flee ! I tell you again, this is a matter of 
life!” 

He had not heard her — he only mused over 
the belief that he was not beloved. His hand 
seized his dagger, and very little more would 
be required for him to lacerate his arm, like 
hers in his frenzy. She saw his agony and she 


Beleaguered. 199 

moaned a prayer, racked herself as never be- 
fore in her exalted, passive, arcadian life. 

“Do you mean my life is sought ?” asked he 
with a dreadful laugh. “I do not swerve from 
taking it straight to my enemies, for I am but 
a flower, which you have plucked from the 
bouquet of life! Let me be rained down, leaf 
by leaf — all the bloom is departed!” 

He went to the door and removed the 
irons mechanically. 

“Farewell!” cried he, dolefully. 

But the door would not open ; in the interval, 
it had been securely fastened without. In 
their enrapt state, neither had heard the opera- 
tion. 

“Fastened !” said he, recoiling. 

She had no doubt that there had been lyers- 
in-wait; it was known that the gallant was in 
her rooms ! It was as much to ruin her as to 
kill the enemy that all this was done. 

“If they will not let me run at them, let him 
come to me! Henry of Guise!” cried he. 


200 Beleaguered. 

“dastard, recreant knight, traitorous prince, 
come and meet me ! Had you only the 
cruelty to mar a woman’s arm ! Try mine, tor- 
turer!” 

He thundered with his fist on the door. 

“Hold! peace! Oh, do not call! He will 
be sure to come !” shrieked she. “Soon — soon 
enough — all too soon !” 

“Why should that matter, since I am indiffer- 
ent to you? I do not say you are pitiless, too, 
but ” 

“But if you would seek — if you would try — 
if you will aid me, you may avoid this lugubri- 
ous fate!” 

“Avoid it! Avoid my doom, even though I 
am his peer!” 

“His peer?” repeated she, thinking he was 
surely deranged. 

“The king has made me a duke that I might 
fight him on even terms — it is he who has de- 
graded himself below my former state, below 
a man’s level, by this trap and this onset of 


Beleaguered. 20 1 

murderers! He will come, no doubt, but you 
will see — not unattended!” 

“Fly, fly!” reiterated she till hoarse. “Oh, 
think of the delicious daylight and the open 
fields !” 

“I think only of the open grave ! But it is not 
my corse alone that will fill it, heaven helping ! 
But my death or my life are wholly as trifles, 
dust of those fields to you — fly ! How fly from 
your coolness, your hatred, perchance !” 

“Why do you think I hate any fellow- 
creature? Ah, would to Heaven that others 
loved as purely ” 

“Oh, can you love? Then, under the heaven 
you appeal to, give me one word still! I will 
obey you blindly, then ! Tell me, as heaven is 
above, and the grave at my feet — will my death 
here in your sight be more than the murder of 
any other man?” 

“Great saints! do you ask me that? Oh, 
yes, it would ! It would !” the cry seemed ex- 


202 Beleaguered. 

torted from her by a power overbearing her 
faculties. 

He saw that he was not deceived; that he 
must forgive her — that she must forgive him 
for having wronged her — that, in a word, he 
was beloved. 

His whole course changed. He would sub- 
mit to evading the man he had challenged — or, 
at least, his myrmidons. 

“But as you speak of escape, what means 
are there? That way?” 

“Into my rooms — no outlet there!” 

“Fly! a St. Megrin fly!” 

“The assassins are hirelings — you are rich — 
Geld reicht weit,” she said in her native tongue, 
“money will clear a road ! Treat with the ruf- 
fians ” 

“I descend to that! Never will I retrace 
my steps since you love me !” 

“That is why you must be gone. You are 
not fleeing before that rocky-hearted prince, 
but before a host of assassins. This meeting 


Beleaguered. 203 

of Leaguers was to sacrifice you! Even now 
he is placing them at all the issues — they will 

storm as on a fortress. Yet ” 

He had made the circuit of the room, trans- 
formed into a lion, whose walk, when enraged, 
his resembled ; he listened, he searched, he 
scrutinized the air — he reckoned up all the pos- 
sibilities. 

Doors and windows closed and guarded, 
there was yet one egress — the chimney. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


IN THE SNARE. 

But, as might have been also expected, the 
ease with which this communication with the 
open air could be utilized had occurred to the 
tenants; iron bars of great solidity crossed at 
two places, above the mantel and at the orifice; 
possibly, a boy might have glided through the 
interstices, but a man was debarred. 

St. Megrin withdrew his head from the fire- 
place with a sigh; the glimpse above of the 
midnight blue sky had tantalized him. 

He looked disconsolately at the lady, who 
was stupor-stricken ; her head was splitting 
from the tossing of her frenzied brain; her 
thoughts were simply clashing. 

He tore down the curtains of a window; it 
had no shutters without; they were unfixable 
at that height and over the old ditch. Nothing 
but a diving-bird could have taken that plunge. 


In the Snare. 205 

He would simply kill himself or be lodged in 
the mud. 

Then, since his death was a certainty, he 
thought only of retaliation — revenge ! 

Like a soldier on the battle eve, he ran his 
hand over his body ; he tightened his belt, and 
loosened his sword. His dagger was blunt; he 
gave it a new point by thrusting it in a 
door keyhole, which, though locked without, 
might be opened there, and broke off the point 
in it to prevent any use of the instrument. 

He stood on the alert, like a picket in ad- 
vance, not doubting that he would be cut off. 

On her part, Therine could only pray. She 
believed that all measures of the duke’s venge- 
ance had been fully taken. But she could not 
pardon herself for bringing about the destruc- 
tion of the gallant man. He had come to her 
as a revelation of how unselfish true love could 
be. The fire of the Southron, unlike the Lor- 
rainers’ cautious fierceness, and meditated 
steps, struck her as a new kind of heroism un- 


206 


In the Snare. 


known among her pallid countrymen. She fell 
on her knees, not to the shrine but to the de- 
fender, who must fail even to defend himself 
against such odds. She craved his forgiveness 
for what part she had unwittingly, or, at all 
events, unwillingly played to attract him into 
the pit of death. 

But before he could stammer a word, for her 
beauty in such acute distress pulled at his heart- 
strings, she sprang up. 

A high and fiery resolution infused her — she 
wished now to die with him, not with him pro- 
tecting her, but beside him, receiving a wound 
or two destined for her companion. 

The cavalier led her to a chair, and she sank 
in it. 

It was he who knelt at her feet; as a wor- 
shipper dies, kissing the idol, he felt that death 
would come to him tenderly thus, under her 
soulful eyes. This was more than pity. 

“In few words,” said he, softly, “tell me that 
you love me! Not for what I have said to 


In the Snare. 


207 

you — that is little! Not for what I have done 
for you, for that is again so little ! but for what 
I should have done! It is a man standing in 
the grave, of which he makes the last entrench- 
ment, that addresses you. I speak to you as 
one dying.” 

Indeed, she forgot she was a princess; she 
became purely a woman. 

Prejudices of her exalted station and her se- 
cluded life disappeared, and social ties snapped 
before this solemn pledge of his devotion, to be 
sealed with his best blood. He was going to 
die for her as one dies for his queen and coun- 
try. It would be in perfect justice to surround 
his last moments with some of the heavenly 
felicities in the gift of the woman adored. 

If she could have put the speech upon his lips, 
she would have promoted the one he breathed, 
with his eyes, dark and liquid as black pearls, 
bent upon hers. 

“Ah, tell me that you love me !” 

She did not hesitate or trifle now. She not 


ao8 


In the Snare. 


only answered to his wish, but added that she 
had believed him dearest from when she had 
seen him, on the Rhine, before she could dream 
that their lives were anew to cross, and, as it 
seemed, be cut short at the same instant. 

She told him what he, in his ignorance of 
woman's feelings, could never have divined. 
How she had had many conflicts with herself on 
keeping to her rooms at Paris, when, had she 
gone into the court circles open to her, thanks 
to her being the old queen’s ward and godchild, 
she might have come into nearness to him so 
often. But she had remembered the bonds 
imposed on her by her folk, and shunned even 
the hearing of his voice. She had followed 
his swift rise at court, his advance by great 
strides in the king’s favor ; she had been proud 
when she heard him cited as worthy to enjoy a 
monarch’s confidence; one who would not aid 
him to waste precious time in foolery and 
worse ! She accompanied him, mentally, in his 
own flights of ambition, as now lie learned. Like 


In the Snare. 209 

him, she had pictured St. Megrin’s lord as a 
statesman — a counsellor, an adviser — not a 
companion in ignoble sports and light pursuits. 

But in her enforced solitude, she had been 
pursued by remembrance of his voice and 
glances, and the image which monopolized her 
field of view. 

“Hear me without interruption of your own,” 
breathed she, so lowly that half the time he had 
to imagine the sense of words which he but 
faintly heard. 

Alas! both awaited interruption from with- 
out. 

“Yes, yes, it is you I love! Here, in these 
rooms, I have peopled the loneliness with mul- 
tiplications of your dear form ! I have drawn 
apart to seek isolation, but you still appeared, 
and it was your intangible hand which checked 
on my lips the utterance of despair! On my 
lids, the tears of disappointment and repining. 
In the silence, voices spoke — or only one re- 
peatedly, yours so mild, sweet and gentle! 


210 


In the Snare, 


Your eyes illumined the dark deeps! Paul, 
then, I feared not to look toward you — to an- 
swer you directly. That spiritual likeness of 
yours knew, then, what now it knows by hear- 
ing-! Those spells of seclusion, incarceration 
in a silken prison, they were, though my child- 
hood was serene and modestly joyous, the most 
enjoyable of my short and cheerless life!” 

He leaped to his feet, glowing, shining, and 
agitated like one thrown out by a volcano. He 
no longer agreed — would not submit to this lay- 
ing down of his life as a few moments before. 

“Malediction !” cried he, “this is the dame to 
live for! Am I to quit here all the happiness 
life can offer, the choicest earthly blessings, and 
go into the hell which murderers and cowards 
alone deserve! Say no more — repeat not that 
you love me! Had you been hateful, proven 
cold, I should have braved their point and edge 
as for any lady in sorrow ! but now, look at me ! 
I fear that I am afraid! Be still — oh, say no 
more in the vein which makes one cling to life !” 


In the Snare. 21 1 

“Paul, would you blame me — would you 
curse me!” 

“I can curse the love which gives me a 
glimpse of heaven, and then tears me aloof! 
No, no, let me go to the death and fray like a 
soldier who just earns his pay — and tell me that 
I perish not in illusion and deceit !” 

“There is no illusion !” said she, sadly. 
“Hark ! on all sides ! They come ! There is 
no deceit !” 

St. Megrin drew the blade, holding which his 
predecessor in the royal bounty had lost his 
young life, not for a worthy woman, but for a 
worth-little king. 

“You should withdraw,” said he, with gentle 
firmness, “for you would unman me! I would 
not have you see me weak, palsied, cower- 
ing — sooner, look on your knight dead! Be 
off, for these oxen are about to run up against 
a mountain !” He appeared to increase in bulk 
as well as height, his long sword became a lance. 
His flashing eyes, firm-set mouth, dilating nos- 


in the Snare. 


212 

trils and bristling hair presented a more appall- 
ing spectacle than the head on Perseus’ shield. 

“You speak well,” said she, hanging her 
head. “I will go into the oratory and pray to 
heaven. Except from above, we can await no 
relief!” 

At the moment when there was the buzz and 
scuffle of many feet like hunters gathering 
around a lair, a sound at the fireplace called 
their eyes thither. A shapeless object, like a 
coil of serpents, had fallen down the smoky 
tunnel, and lay on the stones, vibrating with 
the shock of the fall. 

St. Magrin rushed upon it with avidity. 

“A rope,” said he. 

He looked up in the channel. The square of 
blue sky was partly cut off; a solid obstacle 
barred out the view of a star — St. Megrin’s 
star, which the astrologer had pointed out. 

He could not discern a form, but he heard a 


voice descend : 


fn the Snare. 21** 

“Are you there, lord count? Have you the 
rope?” 

“It is Arthur!” cried the lady, having placed 
herself at the same recess. 

“Your page — that was your page? This is 
true work if the letter was a snare!” said he, 
taking up the rope. 

“Arthur !” said the princess, piteously. 

The page had heard her sigh ascend, for he 
replied : 

“My lady! still alive? Bless you! You are 
beset! They are in hundreds! Woe! I can- 
not slip through — there are strong bars!” 

“Save yourself!” 

She spoke none too soon. A shot was heard 
from a firearm. It was clear, by the boy being 
seen upon the housetop, that armed lookouts 
were posted in high places on the buildings 
around about. 

“Hundreds,” repeated she, wringing her 


hands. “Is he killed?” 


214 


In the Snare. 


They heard a laugh in a youthful voice, free 
from care and fear. And the same voice sang 
defiantly as the singer, no doubt, scrambled 
over the parapets. 

“You are wasting your powder — 

You are wasting your shot! 

The sparrow of Paris 
Is 'not for your pot! 

The hail may repel, 

The snow cramp the wing, 

But the sparrow’ll return — 

I’ll be back in the spring!” 

“I recall it now,” said the princess, somewhat 
relieved in that quarter. “There is a balcony 
under this window. You might slide down 
there and thence to the lane. On the 
ground ” 

He had gone to the window indicated, with 
the beneficial rope. It opened on the void. 
No shot was fired — he did not perceive a gun- 
match burning in the intense blackness ; he was 
staring into a gulf. 

At all risks he fastened the rope at one end 
to the leg of a massy buffet and threw the other 


In the Snare. 215 

part out. Its weight brought it out to its full 
length. It did not seem to reach any founda- 
tion, but it was uncaught by anything. 

“Will those cursed doors hold out!” mut- 
tered he, for the enemy, aware that the shot 
told the whole neighborhood of the assault, as 
well as the person aimed at, had with one im- 
pulse flung themselves at all the doors and case- 
ments they could attack. 

Not only did the woodwork bend and spring, 
but axes showed their crescent edges through 
the first clefts they made. 

Therine had thrown herself against the 
door by which her gallant had entered, for she 
heard a well-known voice urging on his 
janissaries. 

“Down with it, as with him !” 

“Guise!” said St. Megrin. “Ah, coward, is 
it thus he would disable me from meeting him 
in the duel? Oh, coward knight! Oh, un- 
principled prince ! He should end on the gal- 


2 i 6 In the Snare. 

lows! He ought to be on the end of this 
rope!” 

He saw that she was in dire peril, for a spear- 
head pierced the fractured panel. 

“Come away — rather my death than saved 
by such a buckler !” 

“Open, lady of mine!” cried the duke, sar- 
castically; “open, as you are worthy of the 
honor promised you !” 

“Wait, I shall open to you!” said the count, 
turning to the shivered door. 

“No,” said the princess, dragging him away 
so that they should not be seen together rather 
than to avoid the possible shot, if a firearm 
was thrust in at the opening where the spear 
had entered. “You will save more than your 
life or mine by flying! If you stay, I swear to 
die before you — on your breast, and that will 
be dishonor to Therine of the Cleves ! Fly ” 

“Without you?” 

“Without me, but with all my love!” 

“A ram — a battering ram !” yelled the furious 


In the Snare. 217 

duke; “ply the hatchets, you numb-fingers! 
Strike with the butt of the halberds! At a 
siege you would but give the garrison time to 
man the walls ! Down with this sheet of paper ! 
Or lend me your axe !” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


FRIEND INSTEAD OF FOE. 

The din was terrific. 

Therine threw her arms around her lover and 
embracing him, murmured : 

“Away ! Farewell ! Away !” 

“Yes, away it is! But I shall make him re- 
member this r 

“Aha !” shouted the duke, spying the gallant. 
“He is here! Oh, this is where the hare got 
the pepper thick!” 

“Catch the hare and find it a wolf!” retorted 
St. Megrin, but nevertheless he rushed to the 
window where the rope trailed rigidly now. 

One would think a weight had been ap- 
pended to the end. 

The count peered out, but could see nothing. 
He put his sword crosswise in his teeth, and 
thrust one leg over the sill to step out. 

Before him the top story of an old wing of 


Friend Instead of Foe. 219 

the first Soissons House loomed up closely and 
overhanging; luckily, it had remained dark and 
silent. He had not believed an attack would 
also emanate from here too; it seemed too cruel 
to be encompassed in every part. 

But over against a window, long since sealed 
up and grimed and gumed with dust, opened 
with a powerful impulse from within. 

A brilliant flame from one or more torches 
showed in the garret, among suspended saus- 
ages and hams, and sweet herbs drying, several 
armed men, with their swords bared. They ad- 
vanced to the window, which they had broken 
open. The torchlight fell past them into the 
chasm under the other window. St. Megrin, 
glancing down, saw that on the balcony indi- 
cated by the princess two or three men were 
grinning as they held the rope. If he did not 
descend by this means into their midst they 
could mount by it, and would fall upon him 
perhaps at the same time as the Duke of Guise’s 
party burst into the room. 


220 


Friend Instead of Foe. 


“Hemmed in!” muttered he, literally seeing 
foes before him, beneath and all around. 

He glared down, spellbound, when one of 
those below looked up. He recognized, by his 
peculiar beard and his likeness to Henry of 
Guise, the Duke of Mayenne, his brother. 

Mayenne must have known him, for he said, 
throwing his words upward : 

“Mark, count and duke, there is no quarter!” 

He receded. The men before him had not 
been idle after recovering from the shock of 
finding the window left them on the brink of 
the abyss which had daunted St. Megrin to 
some degree. 

They had drawn back from the gap, but it 
was to take up two of those poles which pur- 
veyors carry a string of rabbits and hares on 
to the cook-shops ; they thrust them over 
the space, burst in the two folds of the windows 
which St. Megrin had opened, as if to facilitate 
their entrance, and two, in single file, with in- 


Friend Instead of Foe. 


221 


finite daring, advanced over the narrow and 
springy bridge. 

The count reckoned two as no serious ob- 
stacle. He chose this attack at the weakest 
point. Hence, it would be his place to drive 
the wedge. 

He leaped upon the window sill, and brandish- 
ing his sword prepared to spit the first comer, 
hurl him down upon the wretches below, and at 
once perform the same feat upon the next one. 

But to his extreme surprise, this advancing 
swordsman, stooping to keep his weight con- 
centrated and gracefully balancing himself, ut- 
tered in a low voice : 

“Don’t be a fool! Would you transfix your 
best friend, count?” 

“Bussy! Bussy of Amboise!” ejaculated he, 
the sword almost falling out of his hand with 
glad amaze. 

“Yes; do you not want aid?” 

He passed on and bounded into the room. 

He found no one to receive him; for St. 


222 


Friend Instead of Foe, 


Megrin had seen the door, most mercilessly 
beaten at, give way in long splinters. In at the 
gap, pushing the hanging pieces off the bent 
hinges, dashed a score of men. 

The princess had run screaming into the ora- 
tory. 

St. Megrin, without looking to see if Bussy, 
intruding so opportunely, was at his heels, 
darted at the foremost and began thrusting, 
parrying and cutting — for the sword was two- 
edged — like a madman rather than a fencer of 
any set school. 

He had to do with slashbucklers also, of 
every school or of no school but that of tavern 
skirmishes and bagnio battles. Bussy, taking 
the foe in the flank, had no leisure to watch the 
other’s fighting. It was worth seeing none the 
less. 

Guise had come in with the second rush, but 
he had followed the princess into the oratory. 
Here he was himself besieged, as the little 
bridge over which Bussy had flown to the res- 



“ In at the gap — dashed a score of men.” See page 222 






































































. 






















































































, 












■ k 


























































































































Friend Instead of Foe. 


22 ) 


cue was passed successively by his companions, 
who banged at the door to compel the duke to 
come forth. Others, on the window sill here 
and over there, rained down the furniture, 
stores and tiles upon the group around the 
Duke of Mayenne. 

In the meantime, St. Megrin had broken his 
sword short off; he attacked with the stump 
in one hand and his dagger in the other, and 
these failing, he used the handles as a weight to 
his fist like the loaded gauntlet of the ancients. 
At the same time, Bussy gave him some relief. 
On this, he broke a leg off a chair and showered 
blow for blow, as if he had regained another 
spell of life. 

“Keep it up!” cried Bussy, “I see that you 
have no fear of your life !” 

He was so badly wounded that he had bound 
up his left arm, wrapping his short mantle 
around it, after a Spanish model, so as to parry 
with it. 

Meanwhile, over the temporary bridge 


Friend Instead of Foe. 


224 

poured the friends of Bussy. But then, the 
poles became disarranged, and, one falling, 
none but a rope dancer could cross on the 
single one. 

Mayenne brought up his reinforcement 
through the house. 

They repelled the king’s men, and drove 
them out into the yard. 

Here reinforcements came to the latter, but 
they could not re-enter for a time. 

On doing so, with the aid of the frightened 
servants, they found the place empty of all but 
the dead and wounded. They had found the 
secret issue. 

“But how came you in so providentially?” 
demanded St. Megrin, in a pause to deliberate 
cn the next step, for the neighborhood was 
aroused and the place would soon be overrun 
with the watch. 

“It is simple,” replied St. Luc, who had well 
seconded Bussy. 

As we have seen, the gallants had followed 


Friend Instead of Foe. 225 

the prowlers in the street to Grenelle, where 
they missed them. The bravos and leaguers 
had vanished as into the ground. For allevia- 
tion of the disappointment, they entered the 
wineshop which St. Megrin had remarked. 

When the shot was fired, they linked it with 
the disappearance of St. Megrin, and while 
some leaped out into the street, others, with 
Bussy, went up into the attic, having received 
a hint from the wine-drawer that so the other 
house could be reached. 

The smoke of battle had cleared. 

“They thought, the Guisards,” said Bussy, 
redressing his wound, “that they had you in 
their hands and could use you as they pleased.” 

“Yes, but the lady, the Princess of Porcian?” 
cried the gallant, who thought little of his res- 
cue. 

A servant related that the Duke of Guise had 
held out in the oratory until his brother pene- 
trated to him. There they had united their 
forces, such as were unmaimed, and carried the 


226 


Friend Instead of Foe. 


lady off in their midst, by the unsuspected way 
which connected, it was now found, the new 
mansion with the old one, or at least, that part 
assigned to the magician Ruggieri. 

This was confirmed by the little page. 

Arthur descended from his perch, where he 
had seen at least the flight of the duke. He 
was weeping over the abduction of his lady. 

“Did any of you hear the duke say anything, 
which would furnish a clue to the route he fol- 
lows ?” 

It could only be gathered that, humiliated 
and enraged by his double failure in influencing 
the king to appoint him commander-in-chief of 
the League, and at the miss-fire of the enter- 
prise against St. Megrin, he had fled to his 
army. 

He had left a kind of treasonable threat. He 
was reported as to have said, in the hearing of 
one of his emissaries dying of a lunge from St. 
Megrin, that, “after the servitor he would deal 
with the master !” That is, after having killed 


Friend Instead of Foe. 


227 

the count-duke, he would not shrink from re- 
moving the king by violence as impudent as 
this midnight outrage. 

The triumphal gallants escorted Bussy and 
carried St. Megrin through the streets in the 
dawn, making the old house fronts ring with 
their cheers, and execrations of the fled duke. 

Henry heard the story as soon as he awoke, 
and remarked, with a sly smile : 

“He will not meet St. Megrin in a duel, Eper- 
non, have no fear. Come and partake of my 
pogge — of which I will send a slice to St. 
Megrin. I will do him the politeness to sup- 
pose that he is taking to the field, and that I 
may meet him in the battle.” 

“I do not think so,” returned the baron. 

“If, however, they cannot come to terms, I 
believe that I shall send him an antagonist 
whom he will not flinch from.” 

“Oh, oust him from that preference!” 

“You are too gallant toward such a foe ! But 


228 


Friend Instead of Foe. 


we are going to forestall Guise and Mayenne in 
their campaign! Will you come with me?” 

“All ! all!” 

His surgeon sent word that he feared that he 
could not save St. Megrin. The king forsook 
everything and hastened to his couchside. He 
was sitting up, which he had no business to do. 

“Sire, sire !” implored he, clasping his gashed 
and bandaged hands, “they tell me that at last 
you are going to take the field in person ! It is 
well ! Oh, give me leave to follow you ! I 
shall get well enough to keep upon a horse, 
and, like the blind king, charge, if bound upon 
the saddle, into the ranks. But I do not want 
to charge blind — I must single out my foe — I 
must harry the duke so that he will not think of 
marrying!” 

The king studied him ; pale, shrunken in fea- 
tures, weak in voice; undoubtedly fevered. 

“If he opposes me, he will be harried,” re- 
plied he. “Go now, and rejoin me at the 
earliest,” said he, soothingly. “If there is no 


Friend Instead of Foe. 


229 

hindrance to your own wedding, I shall dance at 
it yet!” 

“Meanwhile ” 

“The duke shall not marry in haste, sir! I 
will, if he comes under my hand, hold his ! If 
he should marry in haste, as they say, he will 
be given no time to repent !” 

His air of determination was similar to his 
minion’s. 

“We are going to hold the Parliament at 
Blois. Recover and come there. If the duke 
comes also, I promise you that postponement is 
not acquittal! He shall give you satisfaction, 
as arranged.” 

“He will now face you only on the battle- 
field !” 

“Then we will corner him in, and there you 
shall chastise him, and deal him with this 
maimed hand the coup de grace!” 

The, count smiled sadly, but thankfully, up to 
him. 

“They all die mournfully that love me,” said 


230 Friend Instead of Foe. 

the king. “Ah, I have a heavy debt to wash 
out in his blood! No, I do not think that that 
hand will punish him! but I can find one that 
will. Guise is very well as a traitor. He must 
die a traitor’s death. Not on the glorious 
field in a flash of victory! not like he would 
have had me die, pining in the monastery, but 
as he treated Quelus and this young gallant — 
butchered. For this must be,” concluded he, 
as he moodily reached his rooms; “for if he 
unites his forces with Henry of Navarre’s, I 
shall be as the hare between the harriers and 
the fowling-piece!” 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE MAN WHO SOUGHT REST. 

St. Megrin had been placed by his friends un- 
der the royal surgeon’s hands; but as the king 
made a very hasty departure from Paris, 
which was deemed tantamount to a flight, the 
surgeon, wishful to be miles out of danger, ac- 
companied the court to Blois. 

Thus the wounded gallant was left in the care 
of the apothecary to the royal household, who 
had had his sign painted out and “to the Holy 
Union” substituted. This worthy truckler per- 
sisted that his patient was still far from con- 
valescent, probably to augment his bill for med- 
icines and board. 

The patient returned that the fever was out 
of his bones as regarded his hurts, but that it 
was on the surface impelling him to action. 

He had been haunted in his delirium by the 
fight repeating itself, as well as the princess ap- 


232 The Man Who Sought Rest. 

pearing, like a Druidess with flowing, golden 
hair, to encourage her champion. 

So he rose, flung down his purse, disregarded 
the injunctions to do this and that to prevent his 
gashes breaking out, and proceeded to his 
banker. He found this gentleman about the 
only king’s man left in town. 

The king had taken his favorites and the 
court their followers. 

The League reigned triumphant, but had no 
leader at all, for the Duke of Guise was gone, 
with his ensigns. 

Paris was decidedly unsafe for the royalists. 

Lampoons fluttered about with the autumnal 
leaves; they likened the weak Valois to Tibe- 
rius, Nero, Herod! Called him a pro-Lucifer. 
Children flourished the latest Paris “article of 
novelty,” which dethroned the pith-gun — scis- 
sors imitating that pair with which the Duchess 
of Montpensier had threatened to cut short 
the royal hair as her brothers had to cut his life. 

The roads were all unsafe, likewise ; one way, 


The Man Who Sought Rest. 233 

you would run into the landless and lawless, 
speeding to join Guise’s army, to be reinforced 
also out of his principality. Another, dissent- 
ers to the church, hastened to join Henry of 
Navarre, with likelihood of meeting his swell- 
ing hosts half-way to the capital. Least in 
valor, but not in number, the lackeys, crumb- 
catchers and fawners were traveling toward the 
seat of the congress, which the king was to 
open. 

St. Megrin had the privilege of the royal 
stables, but it was as empty as his ducal title; 
not a horse was left at the Louvre mews, as 
a few in the stalls were pledged to officials 
packing up what had not been carried away on 
the first party setting out. These only waited 
for the tocsin to grumble over the town, to run 
after the king and court, while there should be 
left king and court between Hammer-Navarre 
and Anvil-Guise. 

The count had to have recourse to the royal 
post. He had no servant, as George had gone 


234 The Man Who Sought Rest. 

with the favorites, having missed touch with 
his master, and assured by them that he was 
not resting in town, although they did not fully 
understand what a lodestone the affianced con- 
sort of the Duke of Guise was. 

Established by King Louis XI., the civil wars 
had canceled any postal improvements, so that 
he was six days reaching Orleans. It is to be 
granted, however, that the best horses had been 
carried on in the king’s march, and had not 
been sent back, as common travelers are obliged 
to do. Everything was dear; the prices were 
high and the tavernkeepers saucy. 

As for the prowlers, hedge-hiders, human 
dogs, who played the scavenger, they let St. 
Megrin pass as small game. He was pale, hag- 
gard, dragging of foot, attired sedately and 
carrying the famous long sword of Bussy, re- 
placing Schomberg’s, broken to pieces in the af- 
fray. His head hung miserably since he learned 
that the princess must have been carried off in 
the Duke of Guise’s train. Either he or his 


The Man Who Sought Rest. 235 

brother of Mayenne must have taken her in 
charge for conveyance — whither? 

On he trudged when he could not get a 
horse, supported by hope, the lover’s staff. 

At Orleans he heard that Guise had conferred 
with his chiefs of the army, and local, and then 
quitted all to go to Blois. ' People laughingly 
and knowingly said that if the King of Navarre 
would also transfer his command of his army to 
a subordinate and attend the session, there 
would be “loggerheads (Henries) three!” 

Mayenne had disappeared, probably being with 
the lieutenant-general of the League and the 
army of the east. The lady was too insignifi- 
cant among these high personages to be no- 
ticed. The roads were guttered and rutted 
with innumerable vehicles of all sorts, farm 
carts being pressed into service, so that the gen- 
try and nobility should get to the city. 

St. Megrin was at a loss ; it was not likely that 
the Princess of Porcian’s warders would let her 
direct them to this common goal, so that she 


236 The Man Who Sought Rest. 

might lay her plea for release before the estates 
of Blois! 

As well turn one way as another until some- 
thing definite was come upon. There was a 
slight comfort in the lady not being possibly ac- 
companied by the duke himself in his daring 
movement to beard the Valois in his stronghold. 
Dismissing the love-chase for the moment, he 
determined, by the smarting of his cicatrizing 
wounds, to make good his challenge on his un- 
knightly opponent. 

For two stages, he had the luck to hire a 
jade and a nag, similarly spared from the crows 
to serve to catch a louis or two. 

But the last, while munching a handful of 
oats at the inn of Deep Well, a paltry hamlet 
straggling along the road at a forks, was gob- 
bled up as a pack horse by the baggage train of 
Lord Coesme, brother of the Countess of Sois- 
sons, traveling like a king, and replacing foun- 
dered horses at the expense of any one his high- 
handed lackeys met. St. Megrin could hardly 


The Man Who Sought Rest. 337 

appeal to his lordship on the grounds that he 
had been nearly murdered under his roof. Be- 
sides, Coesme was a Leaguer and more likely 
to be hurrying to Blois to support Lorraine 
than France. 

There was a little heat already about his 
censuring the king’s gallants, and so — not to be 
thumped by the servants’ canes, the count pru- 
dently let himself be robbed and watched his 
last aid be whipped off. 

The captain of a stranded ship looks naturally 
to the rock which split him. 

St. Megrin saw the most dilapidated and un- 
accommodating of hostelries, without a name, 
indicating, by a green bush, now in the sere, 
that it sold wine. But the barn was immense, 
and the landlord was an important farmer and 
grazier. He had servants of robust and stal- 
wart proportions, whom no one had tried to im- 
press into their service as they had done the 
horses. The inn had no lodgings to offer. The 
vagrants, poachers, ragged outcasts, contentedly 


238 The Man Who Sought Rest. 


clustered around it, accustomed to the sky for 
coverlet, provided they could get a cup from 
the wine casks within the cellars. 

Such as the hovel was, it had been wholly 
absorbed by a party going toward Nevers, they 
said. As this was the Protestant rallying point, 
St. Megrin believed that he had fallen in with 
Protestant squires eager to diminish their dis- 
tance between them and the Valois, as well as 
the rabid Guise. 

He scrutinized them ; they were military and 
guarded a very military chest, but they had also 
in charge a lady, having maid and page, which 
suggested anything but a military expedition. 

He inquired about her, which was natural in a 
young gentleman, while to do so about the es- 
cort might bring questions upon him. 

The inn servants reported her fair as the 
Lady of Mayday, and blonde as the Siren of 
the Rhine; also, by her accent, a German, the 
landlord knew, as his tramps with cattle had 
taken him over the Rhine. The inquisitive young 


The Man Who Sought Rest. 239 

gentleman must not hope to see her, as she 
kept her room and wore a mask, too. Her 
maid was a Parisian, but not loquacious, which 
belied her extraction ; as for the page, a pretty 
mannikin, he acted like Hector in the bud, 
flashing out a waspish dagger at every attempt 
to be familiar with him. 

A German was likely to be a Reformer. But 
still this did not assure one that she was bound 
back to her own country or to the Protestants’ 
flying camp. This was reported to be at Epi- 
nac, or even at Dijon, profiting by the Duke of 
Guise being to the west, and Mayenne being too 
fat to keep the field. 

This steady northerly advance of the rebels 
favored the standard joke, which was circulat- 
ing here, to wit, that Henry of Navarre would 
cast his vote at Blois. A deciding one. 

This masked foreigner, worthy of a captain’s 
guard, pricked St. Megrin’s curiosity, or rather 
his love. But, on having one of her conductors 


240 The Man Who Sought Rest 

pointed out to him as the chief, he felt almost 
sure that he was on the right track. 

“Balzac of Entragues!” muttered he. “An- 
traguet is set aside by his lord — surely only to 
ward and watch over his betrothed. Logically, 
this is the lady !” 

Needless to say, he took very good heed that 
Antraguet should not view him in return. 
Moreover, he broke his plumes, slouched his 
cap, trusted that the sticking-plaster on his 
scarce-closed cuts would disfigure him, and 
tried to resemble the meanest of the refuse of 
the bivouac and forays. 

If doubts remained, he soon had them set to 
rout. 

He had boldly invited one of the guards of 
Antraguet to crack a bottle with him, on a pre- 
tended acquaintance founded in the Nether- 
land campaigns. 

Like the others, this was a frei-ganger , a free- 
goer, indeed, who held that law of nature that 
man had a right to all things; he was a “late- 


The Man Who Sought Rest. 241 

walker,” one who preferred nocturnal attacks, 
who had sat oftener on “the Polish buck,” or 
wooden horse, than a war charger; thirsty per- 
petually, he would have rubbed noses with a 
tinker rather than die “a dry death.” He had a 
fluent reply to every question while the wine 
flowed. 

Unfortunately, he had no true idea of their 
destination. 

The lady might be on the way to east or 
south, only, as they were all true sons of the 
church, like the comrade with whom he was 
drinking, he did not believe that they would 
present her to Henry, the Huguenot, with his 
captain’s compliments. As for that, she was 
beauteous and would tickle the well-known 
Evergreen Gallant’s susceptible heart. 

St. Megrin was convinced that only a mint 
would corrupt all the soldiers of this capacity — 
or a vault of the Orleans wine market. 

He tested the louts to see if they could be 
mustered into a company of deliverance; they 


242 The Man Who Sought Rest. 

were sharp as awls, brave with a club, but not 
against swords; and pilferers ready with their 
knives to saw half-through the baggage ropes 
so that the packs might burst on the highway 
and they have the pickings; but fight with them 
— for a woman — never! 

Besides, they were bigots and would not have 
sided with an angel against the Duke of Guise, 
brother of a cardinal. 

As for the night-waifs, beggars asserting that 
they had been prosperous farmers until burnt 
out by the foragers, they were too few if they 
could have been depended on to man a rush. 

“Oh, for the Joyeuses, St. Luc or even Eper- 
non — or for my formidable Bussy alone !” 

Faithful squire, Antraguet was ever on the 
lookout and he had to keep aloof. They would 
have started overnight only for the lack of 
transport. 

“How nearly I missed her!” thought St. Me- 
grin. “Misery as it is! To be near the un- 
steady court! If only I had a carrier to beg 


The Man Who Sought Rest. 24) 

the gallants to fly to me and peck ! Fatal night 
when we parted and I was parted from her — 
how cruelly I am walled off now !” 

He had to lament until dusk. Then, An- 
traguet took half-a-dozen men and went off to 
make a raid for horses, or scout before contin- 
uing at any hazard. 

One of the remaining ones, with whom St. 
Megrin had struck up the bibber’s compact, 
laughingly explained that he was gone to “bor- 
row a saddle or two with four hoofs under the 
girth.” 

This was the chafing gallant’s cue to pro- 
cure an interview with the ward of Guise’s fac- 
totum and confirm his more than suspicion. 

But he had no more than entered the one re- 
ception-room, crowded to suffocation, before 
he feared that he was foredoomed to disap- 
pointment. Assuredly to delay. 

The law was being laid down without reckon- 
ing with the host, by the jack-in-office — that is, 
Antraguet’s ensign. His men had choked up 


244 The Man Who Sought Rest. 

all the snug corners and sat on the stair bot- 
tom, sprawling out their boots and balancing 
platter and pewter pots on their knees. This 
young, but hardened, scuffler refused entirely to 
let even the household go up into the upper 
story, as “his lady” should not be disturbed. 

In vain the host, a pretty good arguer, with 
a poker in hand, as long as a sword and thrice 
as heavy, had claimed that he had not let to his 
superior a little cupboard which contained 
choice stores. He wanted it for a fresh-come 
customer. 

This greediness grated on the nerves, how- 
ever well tempered, of this mature, thick-set, 
inelegant but soldierly figure wearing dented 
and blackened half-armor under a weather- 
beaten horseman’s cloak. He had stalked in 
like one who made an entrance by sheer force. 
He had come on a fine war horse, capable of 
carrying a ton, and of defending himself from 
“the lifters of cattle” by his own heels and teeth. 
But for the greater safety, the rider had en- 


The Man Who Sought Rest. 245 

trusted him to a groom almost built after his re- 
doubtable model. This man wanted not for 
arms, to say nothing of a large-bore handgun, 
swung at the saddle-hook. 

Without a noble carriage, this intruder bore 
himself like a man who, in the respects that he 
most prized, had not yet met his more than 
equal. 

If not a courtier — he was born in a shield 
and cradled in a helmet — that is, he belonged to 
the camp. 

The stalwart host had bowed to him more 
lowly than to Antraguet and to Lord Coesme. 
He recognized a man as strong as himself and 
inured to vicissitudes of warfare out of his ex- 
perience. This utter fearlessness was guided 
by readiness of device. 

The host offered him a corner, his last and 
best, which he would not have done to the 
Count of St. Megrin had the latter declared 
himself the duke of the same place. 

St. Megrin did not know this Brutus, who 


246 The Man Who Sought Rest. 

had evidently been warring while he was at his 
studies, but he recognized the veteran who 
would go far under a leading spirit, and would, 
left at a breach, suffer himself to be hacked to 
pieces before they could clear the passage of 
him. 

The gallant’s ignorance seemed shared by the 
mercenaries and their present captain. This 
seemed to irritate him, though his was not vain- 
glory. 

While awaiting the landlord’s reply to his re- 
quest for sleeping apartments, he seized a bot- 
tle, or rather a flagon intended to serve a whole 
table, and poured himself out a brimmer into a 
tall cup or rhinoceros hide mounted in gold, 
which could serve also as a powder-horn. He 
drank the dust off his mustache, and listened to 
the dialogue of the landlord and Antraguet’s 
delegate. 

The host, having been answered by the latter 
to the effect stated, turned to this overbearing 


The Man Who Sought Rest. 247 

suitor and began an apology, which vexed the 
other like a sailor who had counted on a sound 
slumber after weeks on the tossing wave. He 
listened with uneasy contempt, and overcast the 
ensign and the pleader with his blackening 
frown. 

The landlord probably would not call his 
staff — that is, the domestics, to his aid or the en- 
sign’s, who might reply on his armed force 
alone. After all he would be but fulfilling his 
orders and defending the lady’s privacy. 

The compact cavalier simply looked over his 
broad shoulders out of the doorway, no doubt 
to signal with his black eye to his follower. St. 
Megrin, intercepting this glance, was impelled 
by he knew not what — except enmity to any- 
thing in the colors of Guise — to return him a 
nod of acceptance. 

This was illustrated by the gesture of lifting 
up his sheathed sword with both hands and ten- 
dering it to him. 


248 The Man Who Sought Rest. 

Gentlemen of the sword, both, sympathy was 
forthwith established. 

Although one sword more or less does not 
seem much to precipitate an unequal encounter, 
yet the stranger assumed the air of one thor- 
oughly assured of his having his own way now ! 


CHAPTER XVI. 


“the brave crieeon.” 

It was a crisis. To add to its intensity and 
so perplex the junior of the Guisards, the 
stranger’s servant, inured to his master’s habit 
of “not taking no for an answer,” desiring no 
hint farther than that glance, had tied the two 
horses to the post-ring without. Dismount- 
ing methodically but briskly, he unhooked the 
short-barreled blunderbuss from its horn, and 
walked in doors like one called to a breakfast. 

He uncoiled the match at his girdle, lit the 
loose end at the blazing kitchen fire without 
saying one “By your leave, my masters!” to 
those whose cheeks his hand roughly grazed, 
and wheeled round with the lint fizzing. He 
ranged himself close to his master. He was 
over-ready to support his demand, whatever it 
was, without asking its tenor. 

At precisely the same nick, St. Megrin, al- 


250 “The Brave Crillon.” 

though loth to be prominent, felt it his duty to 
place himself on the cavalier’s left side. In- 
stead of one person trying to browbeat a file of 
swordsmen here were three, each good of his 
kind, and self-satisfied that they could obtain 
elbow room anywhere and maintain it against 
odds. 

On seeing this trebling of the foe, the ensign 
suddenly recollected that his captain’s orders 
had been pivoted on the point of not making a 
noise about the lady. He drew the landlord 
aside and used him as a buckler while address- 
ing him. 

“Speak out, young man !” said the latter, but 
he listened to him. 

Then he turned to the trio and said in a 
hearty voice, as if he would have been no oppo- 
sitionist : 

“The little closet shall be swept out and 
cleared, and a truckle-bed shall be stood up in 
it. Your honor cannot very well stand up in it, 
too, but it is long enough !” 


“The Brave Crillon.” 


251 


He was sure that the newcomer would wring 
human neck or bottle neck with the same non- 
concern, and so the other accepted this reply to 
his simple desire with coolness. But, while the 
sweeping and bed-furnishing was done, he 
showed that he did not care a whit that he had 
won his way over the young soldier, for, sitting 
down, he politely besought the volunteer aid to 
share the wine with him. 

St. Megrin drew a chair from under a fellow 
slow to give it up and sat down with a corner 
of the long board between them, each having 
the sword-arm free. The host himself brought 
in a choice bottle. The warlike servant snuffed 
out his match, shouldered his gun and strode 
out, as if he neither regretted the incident nor 
its poor result. 

But at the door he lit another, but mental, 
means of enlightenment, which produced a 
blaze of glory. 

“May I never stir from a good supper but ye 
are all a troop of awkward riders ! for not one of 


252 “The Brave Crillon.” 

ye could have trod a field of battle not to hail 
the brave Crillon !” 

He continued his exit without pausing to wit- 
ness the prodigious effect of his simple speech. 

To name Crillon between 1560 and 1600 was 
the same as saying Bayard at an earlier epoch. 
In a word, Henry IV., no mean judge of heroes, 
had characterized him, in presenting him to his 
wife, as “the foremost war-captain of the age !” 
“The Bravest of the Brave” was a Gascon. 
When it was suggested that he would be less of 
a bear if he learned to dance, he growlingly went 
to a dancing-master. But on his instructor 
speaking of “reversing!” and “retiring!” he 
protested. 

“This will not do for Crillon ! Know that the 
Crillons never retire and know not reverses!” 
It may be added here that when his body was 
examined by the doctors, over twenty wounds 
appeared by ineffaceable scars, and his heart was 
found twice the normal size. 

Still, St. Megrin did not know this anatomi- 


“The Brave Crillon.” 253 

cal fact when he exclaimed, as the abashed 
crowd unanimously trailed outward at citation 
of this dread name : 

“Oh, that great heart! You are Crillon? I 
am St. Megrin!” 

“You, that I have heard of from Bussy! He 
styles you his brother, and the prompt way you 
sprang to my side proves that you warrant the 
term.” He gripped the count’s hand, which 
needed Guise’s iron gauntlet not to become 
pulp ; “I see that, like him, you do not count the 
odds when the scourings of the camp fall foul of 
a gentleman!” 

“Bussy,” replied the young man, blushing, “is 
my model for hand-to-hand encounters as you 
are for war ! Ah, Bussy — you should have seen 
him in Paris there, when I was overrun by rats 
— he and the few gallants trod them under — 
twenty to a hundred and his arm in a scarf !” 

He forgot his vexation, like the captain his, 
and they were joyous over the wine, which was 
really delicious. 


254 


“The Brave Crillon.” 


Crillon poured out no news from Blois. Al- 
ways taciturn, he was embarrassingly silent. 
His new companion did get an answer to ques- 
tions, but they were meagre ones. 

“You seem to need a bed badly!” said he. 

“It is the first time in years that I shall repose 
on my own couch !” 

“The deuce ! Then you are not hastening to 
— to — Paris ?” 

“Paris is nothing to me, for I got out with 
difficulty.” 

“It was so with me. Going to the army of 
the league, without the walls?” 

“No, and yet they would embrace a red-hot 
Catholic. But it is dissolving for want of that 
cement called subsistence money! Unless he 
captures the king’s treasurer and diverts the 
coin from the favorites’ toys — no offense — he 
will find his noble cavaliers and stout pikemen 
dispersed like snowflakes in the spring breeze !” 

“Well, a fervent Catholic will not be going to 


“The Brave Crillon.” 255 

coalesce with Henry, the Huguenot,” said the 
other, merrily. 

“I do not say that! Creed has nothing to do 
with it. My sword is as good without the 
cross-bar. I seek service since my bones ache 
in unwonted rest, and I will accept it under a 
king who keeps sword and torch bright and lets 
the assassin’s dagger rust.” 

“Eh? I know one Prince Henry who uses 
that — and on my own criss-crossed skin!” He 
tapped two or three scars on his neck and wrists. 
“The Guise ! whom you have just quitted at 
Blois, no doubt, where he awaits me to carry 
out our solemnly arranged duel.” 

Crillon looked around the deserted room. 
The fugitives had assembled around the beg- 
gars’ fire and only a few peered in at the open 
windows, as if on a wild beast, which might 
yet leap out at them if teased. 

“He is not thinking of a single combat — but 
of a number of them. He has his hands full of 
that figure of birdlime called the Valois. Pah !” 


256 “The Brave Crillon.” 

“Halloa ! Have you fallen out with the 
king?” 

“I am afraid that I shall be besmirched if I 
stick to him! You do not know the king yet, 
young sir! Well, then you will never guess 
what he called me into a private audience for?” 

“At Blois?” 

“In the castle, where he is the host, of course ! 
He proposed, as I would, a toast to your 
health ! He asked me — (he gagged as if a 
fragment of cork was choking him) — me to as- 
sassinate his guest in cold blood.” 

“His guest is — Guise?” 

“The duke with the scar! yes. ‘The staff has 
been broken on him;’ he is doomed — but treat 
a ducal criminal properly! Slay — do not stab! 
It was bad enough that Conde, who tried to 
’abduct Henry, should be treacherously done to 
death, but it was on the battlefield — the mur- 
derer, if it were murder, as I think, risked his 
life all sides, but — assassinate after dinner in 


“The Brave Crillon.” 


257 


his own bedroom— hold ! It makes me 

queasy !” 

“Did you reply?” asked St. Megrin, dwelling 
on the answer as if it might mar his hopes. 

“With an effort ! Lord knoweth how it was 
I did not throw my guards’ surcoat at his 
crown, but I replied, civilly and respectfully, for 
he still bears the sceptre of France: ‘Sire, you 
mistake your man (historical) !’ ” 

“Scurvy! 1 ’ remarked his hearer, as if forced 
so to comment. 

“That scalded his ear ! So I am going, after 
the repose I earned in that dishonorable service, 
to join the King of Navarre, who is a Bourbon 
and hates assassination as he does a Lorraine !” 

“But he is chief of the Reformers ” 

“Oh, let him reform the church at the last 
— reformation of other things will take him all 
his life! Did I not say that creed is nothing 
when peace and country are at stake? This 
descendant of St. Louis is a true king, and 
you will see that, young sir! Live long and 


“The Brave Crillon.” 


258 

your eyes will see him crowned at Rheims for 
the whole of united France!” 

“So be it,” said the count, draining his glass, 
quietly. 

Probably enraged by his latest favorite be- 
ing traitorously dealt with at Paris, Henry had 
resolved to punish Guise with his own captain’s 
sword. 

“It was only the mode, then? If the king 
had set you on the prince in a fair fight?” 

“As he did you? Oh, Guise would naturally, 
and by bounden duty, refuse ! What the 
plague! a general has no right to fight with 
even his peer when the enemy’s line of battle 
confronts his own. He might have thrust me 
aside to go and meet King Henry of Navarre.” 

St. Megrin heard this lecture with a kind of 
shame. 

But he was given no time to raise objections, 
as there was an alarming clatter of hoofs on the 
highway. 

He sprang up, as he believed that Antraguet 


“The Brave Crillon.” 259 

had raised an accession to his body, and, as he 
would recognize him as the king’s minion, he 
would be cornered even more tightly than Cril- 
lon. But the cry without was “For the king!” 
The whole reined up at the door, where, install- 
ing themselves with excellent precision, outlet 
was not left. Even more, two or three, carry- 
ing firearms, raised them and threatened the 
upper windows, where, no doubt, curiosity had 
brought unwanted pryers. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


FOR THE KING. 

Crillon rose and looked out of the open door- 
way. 

“Whew! how close upon me! It is Baron 
Vitry !” 

“Your own lieutenant of the Bodyguards ?” 

“Oh, he becomes captain now by my resigna- 
tion. Come to lug me back to the king, have 
they? Know they not that Crillon resistant 
requires a crane! Only ten or so — the king 
still rates me cheaply. Well, young lordling, I 
cannot suppose the darling of the king will 
again stand by me to stay me from occupying 
that bed which the king assigns me in Blois 
dungeons?” 

“God forbid!” cried the other, but he hardly 
could support this rebel. 

“Is it eschew or embrace?” asked he. 

While Crillon hesitated to form a plan of re- 


For the King. 261 

sistance, Baron Vitry entered. Over his 
breastplate and other warlike accoutrements 
he wore the surcoat with the flower-of-lilies, 
which denoted that he was acting on the king’s 
immediate service. 

Having seen Crillon’s servant and the horses 
at the door, he had no doubt he had attained his 
goal. He saluted him with a coldness of bad 
augury. 

“I warn you, baron, that I shall give up my 
sword, which is the king’s gift, but not my per- 
son !” 

“It is not I who want your company, but 
the king,” returned Vitry, like a soldier who 
still deferred to his ex-superior. “Keep the 
sword, and if it be until he finds another such 
hand to sway it, I shall not be captain long ! It 
will not be among his boyish gallants, although 
they promise some good lately!” 

“Ha, ha!” said Crillon. 

“I thank you for them, baron !” said St. Me- 
grin. “Don’t mind me !” 


262 


For the King. 

“Oh, ho! you are here? I thought you, ruf- 
fler, had been smoothed out in a riot at Paris 
and now dwelling leagues beyond man’s life. 
Excuse me farther congratulations — but my 
word is with Crillon.” 

The two stood aside, and St. Megrin, look- 
ing at the stairs, now unguarded, itched to 
bound up them. 

“Not for the marshal’s baton!” replied the 
discharged captain to a proposition. 

“But if ” 

“There are no ifs and buts in me. Not to 
exchange that blade for the sword of state!” re- 
plied Crillon in the same firm, yet offended 
tone. “Never would it be cleansed!” 

“Pest upon this stubborn fit. Let me have 
something shaped like an answer to take back 
to his majesty!” 

“Oh, you can take a plainly shaped answer! 
Since he will not let me sleep in peace and free, 
I go for another lodging than under his roof. 


For the King. 263 

To the castle of Blois or the Louvre Palace, I 
choose the tent of his brother Henry. ” 

He bowed curtly, stepped out of doors and 
mounted his horse, which the groom began to 
untie. He rode off a little space to make sure 
bit and bridle were in order, while Vitry, chop- 
fallen, came also to the outlet. Returning to 
caracole and rein up the steed, Crillon said in a 
ringing voice: 

“This to the king: It was Crillon who cried 
out: ‘Long live King Henry the Fourth !’” 

“You saucy rebel!” shouted Vitry, as well as 
he could for laughing. “Present pistols, men!” 

Soldiers are not full of alacrity when a fatal 
order concerns their old officers. These 
brought their pistols to bear with no surprising 
swiftness, and the wheel which carried the steel 
teeth against the set flint over the powder pan 
revolved slowly. Still, they presented arms at 
the fugitive, who nobly swerved a little to pre- 
vent his groom being a bulwark. 

“Take aim, fire!” roared Vitry, with seem- 


264 For the King. 

ing good faith. But St. Megrin, by his rear, 
distinctly heard the postscript, namely: “Miss 
him, you bunglers!” 

“I shall like this Vitry baron for that !” mut- 
tered he. 

The volley was therefore sheerly a salvo of 
joy. 

This detonation, none the less, was a great 
cause of consternation in and about the house. 
Antraguet, returning, believed that there was an 
outbreak among his mercenaries or with them. 
He hurried on his steps, wondering if the 
Huguenots had taken the village, from the still 
echoing warcry in Crillon’s stentorian voice: 

“Long live King Henry the Fourth !” 

He did not for an instant believe that his 
Henry was intended. 

On seeing the royal guards at the doorway 
and two officers, as well as he could make out, 
between the jambs, he prudently altered his 
course and ran in with his followers at the back 
through the scullery. 


265 


For the King 0 

St. Megrin looked at Vitry dubiously. 

‘‘It is a fair notice,” said he. “He has gone 
to join the rebels — he told me he would.” 

“He will, and it is a great loss! This puzzles 
me, for I wanted such a man.” 

“You! He?” 

“Did he tell you what he refused 

“To execute an order!” 

“To execute a man!” 

“Yes !” 

“Then the order devolves on me, his lieuten- 
ant. But he refused more — he refused the 
marshalship of France!” 

“Then this man ” 

“France’s highest prince — and the king’s 
lowest foe!” 

“My own — Guise?” 

“Ah! that is so. Well?” 

During this colloquy, rapidly spoken, Antra- 
guet had resolved on a dash. He must have 
run up the stairs, for over the two gentlemen’s 
heads, they heard the folds of a window open 


2 66 For the King. 

and a head was thrust out, for a woman’s voice 
shrieked : 

“My mistress ! they are dragging my mistress 
hence, nolly-volly !” 

It was Marie, whose knowledge of dog- 
Latin allowed her version of “nolens-volens !” 

Both turned around. Steps were heard on 
the landing above. They expected, after this 
announcement, to see a man or two carrying 
down a lady, but, instead, was a fair boy, with 
his long locks streaming, who descended the 
steps as a boy would, three or four at a time. 

“Help ! help !” his flute-like voice, hoarse with 
emotion. “They are bearing away the Princess 
of Porcian !” 

St. Megrin had his sword unsheathed in a 
flash. He parried two strokes with which as 
many ruffians tried to cut down the boy. 

“Warring with children after women!” said 
he. “The princess! You are still her page, 
Arthur!” 

“Oh,” cried he, in the utmost surprise and 





in st - Mergrm and Vit ^ •“** 



For the King. 267 

joy ; “it is the count — the Count of St. Megrin ! 
Then, my mistress is saved !” 

Antraguet appeared at the top of the stairs, 
quivering with the firm step of St. Megrin upon 
it. 

“A word will frustrate that,” returned he. 
“This way, Guise and Lorraine!” 

A rush of the mercenaries hedged in St. Me- 
grin and Vitry, carried to the stairway foot. 
Vitry set his back against his companion’s so 
that they faced each way and had the foe re- 
pulsed. 

“Two words to that,” said he; “here, Valois 
and France!” 

The baron had really no choice about his 
course. With an order to make away with 
Henry of Guise, his followers were included. 
Besides, he knew that King Henry had never 
held any favorite so dear as this St. Megrin, 
whose absence preyed upon him, and he be- 
lieved that it was not slightly to avenge him 


268 For the King. 

that he had sentenced his disappointing anta- 
gonist to death. 

It was a three-sided contest. Antraguet had 
the upper hand in one sense, but he stood alone 
between the two women. Below him, he saw that 
the king’s troopers, chosen men, were capable 
of devouring his corps. Besides, these hire- 
lings, hearing that the Lorraine treasury was 
hollow, wished to be on the side which would 
furnish clothes and food for the coming winter. 
Indeed, half of them left the others and quitted 
the kitchen, too. The others were opposed by 
the guards entering in their full force. 

“Down points !” shouted Vitry, clapping 
his hand, with the sword hilt in it, on his chest 
where the royal arms were blazoned. “Do you 
not know that during the parliament there is a 
God’s truce ! Strike and break it, and my word 
will be ‘The next tree!*” 

The enemy quailed. They knew perfectly the 
signification of that gesture. 

“Sneck up is the word!” was passed among 


For the King. 269 

them, and Antraguet saw from his eminence 
that half these few were dropping off. 

St. Megrin had a flash of genius. Love must 
have inspired him, for he caught a glimpse of a 
precious form above, and a gleam of flaxen hair 
over Antraguet’s scowling features. 

“No blood need be shed,” said he, “between 
gentlemen who understand one another. I am 
the Count, ay, Duke of St. Megrin! I engage 
you who are not traitors to the king to escort 
this lady still, only in the name of Queen Cath- 
erine, who is her god-mother.” 

The men conferred and their self-elected 
chief, treating the ensign as a boy of no posi- 
tion, stepped forward. 

“Here is my purse as earnest.” 
j Money shines never dimly — the man’s eyes 
glittered and his friends caught the gleam. 

The count smiled at his success. He drew out 
of his secret pocket in his doublet one of those 
drafts which the Jews had long employed to 
circulate the scanty cash. 


270 For the King. 

“Two of my friends, your gentlemen, baron, 
shall captain these worthies. This draft will be 
honored as they call it, by Alaezar at Stras- 
burg ” 

“In the Jewry, by the bridge of boats,” said 
one of the guards, who was a Swiss. 

“Or, which is the same, if you can reach 
Cleves, it is her father’s! This is the Princess 
of Porcian !” 

Therine, sublimely ignoring Antraguet, 
whose fang had been drawn, descended the 
stairs as if the approach to a throne. She had 
so queenly and calming a bearing that all 
doffed their hats or saluted with their swords. 
Antraguet alone let her pass with sulkiness. 

Therine had the tact not to single out her 
deliverer for all her gratitude, and Vitry might 
well imagine that he was esteemed the higher 
for lending her two of his men and the con- 
firmation of St. Megrin’s arrangement. 

The royal guards escorted her, with maid and 
page, to the litter brought around to the door, 


For the King. 271 

Antraguet’s best horses were harnessed to it, 
and the party were given a cheer as they took 
a good start over any possible pursuit. Antra- 
guet withdrew with the handful of men clinging 
to his drooping colors. 

“He will see his master, no doubt,” said St. 
Megrin, still staring up the road in the deepen- 
ing dusk without spying anything of the white 
handkerchief lately waving. 

“He will arrive too late, unless we are shame- 
fully behind-hand,” observed Vitry. 

“Take me to where the duke is, and — our 
duel shall this time come off!” 

“Duel? Nay; the king wished us to attack 
him in overwhelming force !” 

“Listen,” said the other, laying his hand on 
his arm and speaking with great gravity; “one 
of my ancestors was friendly with the Scotch 
Archers of the royal guard. They used to tell 
of a great lord being done to death, but one of 
the slayers, having doubts, left the band to re- 
turn on their bloody steps. They asked him 


272 


For the King. 


why he had returned, and he said, in their 
tongue : “To mak’ siccer !” 

“To make — secure? is it?” 

“That is the meaning! Well, you may rest 
on it — I shall make sure !” 

“I must not doubt you, but ” 

“Take me to face him ! You may finish what 
is left of him!” 

Vitry eyed him up and down like a sergeant 
scrutinizing an offering recruit ; then said he to 
himself : 

“Though Crillon declines, all goes well, my 
promotion on it! This court-fop will die on 
his man !” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE STAIN ON CASTEE BEOIS. 

There are times when ambition, like love, 
blinds a man as well as makes him deaf even to 
the most piercing voice. 

The Duke of Guise, who might have been 
safe with his forces, having the assurance that 
he could fall back upon very cordial Paris in 
event of a disaster, of his own volition, quitted 
all to attend the estates meeting at Blois. 

His intimates, most of them preparing for 
their own retreat in case Henry of Navarre con- 
tinued his entrance into France, advised him to 
fly ! He ceased to listen to the warnings. 

His brother, the cardinal, prayed him to 
break off in this odd resolve to turn the gov- 
erning classes into his favor. 

“You will be tripped up by some ignoble de- 
vice,’’ said he ; “you will fall, my dear Henry !” 

“I throw back to you your own words when 


274 The Stain on Castle Blois. 

I urged you to keep out of Paris: The only fall 
man should dread is that from grace F ” 

“Amen! It is not for me to doubt the uni- 
versality of that grace, but I do doubt that 
Henry of Valois exists within the touch of an- 
gels’ wings !” 

The cardinal-duke, overwhelmed with pre- 
sentiment, accompanied him to the risky ren- 
dezvous. 

But, on seeing the high turrets and majestic 
portals of the ancient castle, he shuddered and 
vowed that he would have none of the royal 
hospitality. He went and lodged in the town 
on the steep street climbing up to the citadel. 

On the contrary, his brother seemed eager 
to accept the king’s especial hospitality. 

Needless to say that it was difficult for a war- 
rior to carp at the preparations lavished on his 
suite of apartments, making him feel as if Henry 
had brought the Louvre down and emptied its 
treasures of garnishment and furniture to do 
him honor. 


The Stain on Castle Blois. 275 

It is hard to realize the gorgeousness of a 
mediaeval residence on looking, as now, at the 
denuded walls, the faded drapery, the cracks 
and shrunken doors and windows. Then, the 
tapestries were new and bright; the chairs 
cushioned and lined with velvet well wadded; 
the little conveniences which luxury’s ministers 
found then have disappeared so that the anti- 
quarian hardly more than suspects their preva- 
lence. 

The pictures were built in the solid walls. The 
screens, to keep off currents of air, the ventila- 
tors working by turnspit dogs or by the varia- 
tions of temperature, have rusted in place, and 
the dogs have long ago fed the crows. 

If the guests’ servants trod on rushes and 
sweet herbs gathered and thrown down daily on 
the floor, the masters had oriental rugs and 
squares of thick carpets to rest upon. 

The lounges were roomy, even when heaped 
up with hassocks. Footstools were for each 
person. 


rj 6 The Stain on Castle Blois. 

Henry III. had introduced many refinements, 
such as the personal drinking-cup, which even 
the rude Crillon had adopted, as well as the fork 
of silver and of several prongs, instead of the 
cooks’ which was of steel and had but two. 

Blois was not quiet or gloomy during the ses- 
sion. The place became blithe and overrun by 
the numberless servants of the great lords and 
the boors attracted to town, the gypsies and 
other amusement mongers whose guitars, man- 
dolins, tabors and fifes formed at least enliven- 
ing melodies up to a late hour. Flambeaux 
threw flames into the dark spots, and the 
archers of the watch united with the king’s life 
guards and castle watch to keep down rough 
offences. 

Guise, after having held a reception which 
satiated him, sat at his window ledge, soothed 
by the music of the rippling Loire shooting 
under the bridge. 

Everything seemed to be done to make all 
visitors retain in pleasant memory this excep- 


The Stain on Castle Blois. 277 

tional parliament when peace was promised the 
distracted kingdom. 

The great marplot, and plotter, the old 
queen, had been induced to stay away. There 
was even a whisper that Henry of Navarre 
would be induced to adopt the state religion in 
good faith and submit to share with Guise the 
powers not comprised by the king alone. 

In fact, there was no rumor, however flighty, 
which did not receive some heed and some cre- 
dence. 

Guise brooded and became less somber. 

The buzz from the town, peopled to five times 
its regular population, came to his ears. The 
young nobles, lavish naturally, given the cue by 
the king's favorites, had turned the palace into 
a nest of song birds. The songs of the loving, 
the care-free and the light-hearted pierced even 
to his secret soul. 

He had a vision of a future never before con- 
templated by him. 

He thought that Therine would forget the 


278 The Stain on Castle Blois. 

sanguinary termination to her brief and silly ac- 
quaintance with the Count of St. Megrin, and 
that, as his duchess, he could pass a few hours 
at a time with her in as domestic an interior as 
is permitted to the grandee. 

His prospects had, to him, never beamed 
more dazzlingly. 

It was all within the domain of reason that he 
should defeat Henry of Navarre, the only seri- 
ous antagonist. Between him and Spain, the 
best strategists were sure that the hero of the 
Protestants must be irretrievably crushed. 
Then, by his union with Cleves, he might be 
fortified on the throne by German influence. 

He had it on his tongue tip to join in the 
burden of an odd old lay which rovers on the 
bridge, locking arms, were singing as they mer- 
rily swept along, making the proud burghers 
duck their arms, and opening to let the pretty 
maids pass — on tax of a kiss. 

Their reflections danced on the water. 

“I do not think' I have ever been so jocund !” 


The Stain on Castle Blois. 279 

breathed he; and, leaning out of the casement, 
he sang, too : 


“ ‘I ca'nnot follow you, through stone and mortar !’ 
‘Pull down one side, and I, the other !’ 

She pulled down the stone and he the timber. 
And their lips met, as we remember!” 


At that moment, methodically winding up 
his huge Nuremberg “egg” — that is, watch — 
he felt still glad. 

He believed that he would harvest by his 
rashness. 

“Fortune’s fingers crook on mine,” mur- 
mured he. 

He forbore to call his gentleman to help him 
disrobe. 

He was in his hose and vest when the noise in 
the streets was hushed; the good folk had not 
only gone to bed, but their watch had impressed 
on the wanderers the necessity of retiring also, 
on the penalty of passing the rest of the night in 
the watchhouse. 

To the music and merry confusion succeeded 


280 The Stain on Castle Blois. 


the ponderous soundlessness of a massive stone 
building on high out of the housetop levels. 

It was the deep of night. 

Except a set prayer inculcated in youth, he 
rarely uttered one. 

But this time he felt that he must not lay his 
head on his pillow, under which, as usual, was 
laid his sword, without some call for superior 
protection. 

While he was soliciting the saints, at the 
outer door of his apartments was acted the fol- 
lowing scene — dread, mortal, appalling in its 
promise : 

Vitry did not abate a whit of his faith in St. 
Megrin killing his foe, but his position in taking 
up the hateful duty which the brave Crillon re- 
pudiated, compelled him to leave not a loophole 
open in his report to the king. 

As the act was personal, imperiling his very 
soul, he could not allow strangers to enter into 
his confidence. For subordinates he chose, at 
the town gates, some disbanded soldiers and 


The Stain on Castle Blois. 281 

the drunken ones expelled for excesses. But for 
the seconds next to him, he included only his 
kin ; his brother and his brother-in-law, took up 
posts which effectually cut off communication 
of Guise’s friends with him in his rooms, 
where he could not “stir or wag” but singly. 

Vitry presented himself with the cutthroats, 
pure and simple, at the first door. St. Megrin 
kept by his side. 

Dumilatre opened to his subdued rap drowsi- 
ly; he was sleeping in his clothes by a fire in a 
brazier, as the nights were chill at the river side. 

Vitry presented a pistol to his cheek and said 
in a low, deep voice: 

“King’s service! Silence, on your life!” 

St. Megrin pushed by him during the brief 
act and was followed in lockstep by the bravoes. 

Three gentlemen-in-waiting sprang up, 
almost as sleepily as their chief. They were 
too dumfounded by the entrance of desperate 
armed men to draw their daggers or take down 


282 The Stain on Castle Blois. 

their swords, imprudently hung on the wall 
pegs. 

They were gagged and bound with their own 
scarfs and laid on the floor. Two or three 
of the royal guards, without their cassocks and 
plumed hats, but in morions and blacked steel 
coats, came in with boots muffled in felt strips, 
and stood to guard them. 

In the apartment, lying on the rug at the 
inner door, was the trusted valet, by name Gris- 
con, because of that part of Switzerland; as it 
is known as “the Grey League,” the jest went 
that he was predestined to serve the League in 
France, too. Be this as it may, he must have 
been perverted, for, instead of sending up an 
outcry, as was his bounded duty, and using his 
halberd, he let himself be secured with the do- 
cility of one of the famous cattle of his native 
mountains. 

There was nothing but to go into the bed- 
room and deal with the master. 

Vitry had a fluttering of the heart, and he 


The Stain on Castle Blois. 283 

glanced searchingly at St. Megrin. The latter 
was cool as if cut out of a glacier. 

Luckily, one of those sudden and short hur- 
rying winds which sweep off the Alps and rush 
up or down the Loire, arose at this instant. 
All the weathercocks squeaked as they spun on 
the pikes; the tower owls and rooks sprang into 
the air and jostled the frightened pigeons; the 
great royal standard flapped and spread out, 
and early-ripened leaves were whirled noisily 
about the turrets. 

In this gust, which quelled any noise their 
guarded footsteps made, the murderers pushed 
the door open and dashed in to surround the 
bed. 

But they had to do with a practiced warrior. 
By instinct rather than any solid foundation for 
apprehension, Guise had already bounded out 
of the bed. 

He had snatched at his sword as he thus rose. 
They found him, therefore, not prostrate, but 
erect, his back against the farther high post of 


284 The Stain on Castle Blois. 

the state couch. His sword, caught up by the 
blade, was not yet handled properly, for his sur- 
prise was extreme, and palsied him. 

But the breeze having swept the sky clear 
of the whirl of dry, falling leaves, rays of star- 
light flittered in by the small-paned window. 
He knew Baron Vitry by his office near the 
king, and still hoped that the communication 
was not deadly. But, at the second glance, con- 
founding St. Megrin in his mask with the myr- 
midons, he regained the foreboding which he 
ought never to have discarded, and he said in a 
tone of scathing indignation, the more insulting 
as it expressed his full belief in the king being 
apt to assassinate: 

“You, baron, leading bandits?” 

Without heeding this challenge, which 
showed that his true errand was more than di- 
vined, the new captain of guards spoke the tra- 
ditional words which meant so much to fallen 
nobles : 


The Stain on Castle Blois. 285 

“My lord duke, the king commands me to 
take your sword !” 

“The sword with which I have performed so 
much good service for him!” replied Guise, 
without giving up the weapon. In fact, he took 
his grasp on the hilt to use it, and coolly num- 
bered his foes. 

“My lord duke!” said Vitry, continuing his 
official phrasing, “the king commands me to 
seize your person!” 

This was different. To take a sword was 
simple imprisonment foretold, and the person 
might be released from custody. But to have 
“the body seized,” for the king’s disposal was 
giving one up to death — this was not merely the 
jailer, but the executioner. 

But this time, like men who knew their work, 
the murderers had surrounded the duke literally. 
Two slipped into the recess between the bed 
and the wall, and the others formed a half-ring 
before the prince. 

He was so sure that all precautions had been 


286 The Stain on Castle Blois. 

taken to prevent his escape that he did not raise 
his voice to summon his men. He cherished 
not the faintest belief that they had not been 
made helpless — probably by death, since his 
person was not sacred. 

Bitterly he deplored that he had repelled his 
brother’s advice and the urging of his friends. 

“Antraguet not here?” Ah, curses on that 
beauty whose care had deprived him of his best 
hand ! 

Vitry, protected by his sword, stretched out 
his left hand to clutch the blade which he had 
claimed as the king’s. 

It was simply resistance and death, or death 
without resistance. 

Which was most becoming to Henry the 
Scarface? 

He did not waver an instant. 

Now, five or six more appeared at the door- 
way. He was beset. 

But a flush of shame spread over him at see- 


The Stain on Castle Blois. 287 

ing a Valois do what was so disgraceful in a 
king of France. 

“So you would murder me,” said he, scorch- 
ingly. “Mark, the murder of the Duke of 
Guise will go down to posterity as costing as 
many lives as to kill me on the field of battle! 
Vitry, degraded knight, craven baron, you and 
your tools will be returned to the vile master 
who sent you, broken, broken !” 

He fell on guard. 

But the last comers had firearms. They ad- 
vanced, and, laying their gun barrels on the 
shoulders of their fellows, leveled them at the 
doomed prince. Besides, the two men in the 
alcove would pierce him in the back. 

Hopeless as was the outlook, still he was 
about to spring upon the captain. 

“Oh, if there had been one gentleman here,” 
groaned he, distressed at dying so ignobly and 
in the dark, “I would have made him a noble; 
if there had been one honest peasant I would 


288 The Stain on Castle Blois. 


have made him a knight before my power to do 
these things becomes dust and ashes !” 

At this Vitry turned pale, and his sword point 
was slightly lowered. St. Megrin touched him 
on the shoulder and said, slowly : 

“It is my turn!” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


BY THE KING'S COMMAND. 

He stepped forward, and the baron receded a 
little. 

The matches were well afire now. They did 
not blaze, but sent out a dull glow, like dead 
wood in a burning forest. 

Guise saw this lovely figure of the young and 
graceful man, and perceived that it was not one 
of the hangers-on at taverns and gaming- 
houses, ready to slay for a sovereign and for a 
sum. 

The mask baffled him, but he thought he 
recognized an acquaintance. 

A poignant moment was this. He went over 
the whole line of friends whom he had offended 
and wronged, seeking to particularize one be- 
trayed and who was justified in killing him at 
midnight; but he was glad that he did not re- 


290 By the King’s Command. 

member one toward whom he had been guilty to 
this extent. 

“You shall not die under the volley; not at 
the hired point !” said St. Megrin. “You are to 
die, God deciding, as becomes a knight, though 
false, recreant and cruel!” 

A blight must have permeated Guise; he 
longed to recognize this mellow voice, which 
the chastening had perhaps weakened and in- 
tense rage made rancid. 

“Who are you? Unmask, if I am to cross 
swords with you !” 

The king’s gallant tore off the mask by break- 
ing the strings. 

“St. Megrin !” cried Lorraine, backing so that 
the post alone stopped him. 

“My lord, you must die now, not to tell that 
I came with such attendance,” said the other, 
haughtily. “You avoided the chance for a fair 
fight by ordering me to be murdered. Now, 
I repay by offering you the fair fight a second 
time! Do you fight or fall butchered?” 


By the King’s Command. 291 

The duke responded clearly, if curtly, by sa- 
luting his adversary in that form which always 
preceded a regular duel. 

On seeing this, Vitry made a sign. His men 
retired a little while, keeping their circle and de- 
fending the issues. Those who were ensconced 
by the bed leaned on it; it was still under 
the guns that the contest was to occur. 

Embittered by recalling from it being the 
same hour and the surrounding visages twins 
to those beleaguering him in Soissons House, 
when he had the princess to protect, St. Megrin 
could only see that he was now to retaliate, 
blow for blow, and that the reward of his vic- 
tory would be, as in primeval conflicts, the hand 
of the woman both soughf. 

As for the bewildered prince, he felt that this 
was a judgment for his having basely let his aris- 
tocratic ideas preclude him from punishing his 
aggressor with his own hand. Nevertheless, 
if he were to perish, better thus, to his mind, 
than by the slaughterers, headed by Vitry, and 


292 By the King’s Command. 

made more base because it was by a dastardly 
monarch’s orders. 

He was desperate, for, just as he had be- 
lieved Antraguet would arrange St. Megrin’s 
assassination, he saw no loophole; he must die 
at the end of all. 

The end ? In Blois Castle, according to tra- 
dition, a deep well and a heavy stone over the 
dead man lowered into it. 

Like a lord accustomed to trappings and 
embellishments, he further felt stung by his 
opponent meeting him thus in gloom. If he 
were to meet death at such hands, he would 
have chosen the mode King Henry had royally 
offered — a tourney in a court, surrounde'd by 
the dames and knights, the vulgar excluded be- 
yond the palings; heralds, trumpets, banners 
flying, spears and axes gleaming, much cheer- 
ing at the dextrous defense and at the gallant 
attacks. 

This count, in travel-worn habits, with a war 
sword replacing the one Schomberg had left 


By the King’s Command. 293 

uselessly to his avenger, his resentful mien, 
his determined carriage, all the looks of a 
bloodthirsty fighter. Altogether like “the 
Rough Tilter” who, covered with armor to 
the crown of his head, entered the lists one day 
before King Louis XI., and, without a name, 
defeated every jouster to the highest. Then, 
carrying the crown of victory on his lance tip 
contemptuously, he had ridden away, still un- 
named, and the legend said it was Death in per- 
son ! 

St. Megrin was his Angst-mann, as they said 
in his country, more than his executioner, his 
expiationist, who gave anguish with the last 
stroke. 

So he entered on the struggle with misgiv- 
ings nigh to despair, expecting no possible sat- 
isfaction but to inflict death to this one, at least. 

The action between men of the same degree 
of skill and strength and courage could not be 
lasting. Indeed, its duration might have been 
limited by Vitry’s impatience; he felt that he 


294 By the King’s Command. 

would be blamed for this unaccountable pro- 
crastination. Macbeth understood these state 
assassinations, when he said: “If it were done 
when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done 
quickly.” 

From the first clash of the steel, both com- 
prehended that the duke had beeii wise to meet 
his enemy by proxies. All the experience of 
warfare could not compensate for that youth 
which would “serve.” Then, the younger man 
was deeply assured if only by his angel’s last 
glance, full of gratitude, love and promise, that 
he would, if he joined hand to hand with hers at 
the altar, go through life led thus by her. 

Three lunges had been interchanged and two 
cuts, and then both, after a feint, thrust tre- 
mendously at the same time. It became not a 
test of skill or power, but of the worth of the 
metal. The point of Guise’s weapon, blunted 
by having ground on the steel tip of the scab- 
bard, was fixed, as if a chisel driven by a mal- 
let, in the interstices of St. Megrin’s Spanish 


By the King’s Command. 295 

guard — a round plate ; it bent, and, had it been 
of more brittle metal, would have snapped, and 
with the truncheon he might rapidly have hewn 
down his antagonist, carried by him by the force 
of the advance. On the other hand, warded off 
a little, St. Megrin’s point entered the folds of his 
shirt, raised up at the waist belt by the strug- 
gle, and there entangled, bent double and flew 
out, after slightly wounding him under the 
heart. In this thrust, the nipped blade fol- 
lowed his. Guise would not let go, but his 
wrist was terribly wrenched. St. Megrin, like 
the other, had his dagger out, used more for 
parrying a missed blow than to stab, but it was 
authorized, at this period in the duello, to em- 
ploy it in any manner. 

He raised his left hand and brought it down 
with all his force upon the neck, inside the col- 
lar-bone of the prince. The blow alone would 
have felled an ox. The duke staggered. 

Both swords fell to the floor. 

But the staggering one was lost. The blade 


296 By the King’s Command. 

had gone down into the lungs, for on the lips, 
convulsed with pain and baffled passion, bloody 
froth immediately appeared, with an execration, 
had it been half-fulfilled, all present would have 
been overwhelmed by the castle in ruins. 

“Ah, crooked fortune !” gasped the duke. 

The sight of the dying one, as he tottered and 
threw up his arms, the groan, the peculiar fury 
which seizes men used to bloodshed and spur- 
ring them, incited all to fall on and “leave his 
notch” on the tree. 

All who had firearms let fly the shot, at the 
risk of hitting a friend ; the rest rushed onto the 
now prostrate body like wolves on a stricken 
buck. 

St. Megrin was hurled aside. 

But his passing pity was curbed by his assur- 
ance that he had, betimes, been the death of 
Therine’s persecutor. 

That hand, crisping up in lockjaw, wtould 
never again crush her arm ; that tyrant would 
not crush her heart, with its growing love ! 


buck. 


The rest rushed on the now prostrate body, like wolves on a stricken 
See page 296. 


























































By the King’s Command. 297 

None the less, he was about to enter into the 
horrible medley when he refrained at the hiss, 
like a serpent’s, at the door. 

Holding back the hangings with a white and 
slender hand, a man thrust in his head. That 
he was allowed to penetrate to where the mur- 
der was perpetrated, proclaimed him to be 
uniquely privileged. 

“The king !” came warningly from behind this 
apparition. 

Vitry looked around. Over the pale but joy- 
ous, and yet anxious, countenance of Valois, 
were those of his brother, Hallier, and his 
brother-in-law. 

He made a sign that all was over, for the ben- 
efit of the three. 

Then Henry stepped into the room with the 
shuddering and trepidation of one barefoot, who 
fears to plash into blood. 

The slayers moved aside, and bowed as they 
smiled, knowing who had been the true em- 
ployer. They were jealous that St. Megrin 


298 By the King’s Command. 

should not reap all the advantages which they 
perceived would fall in showers. 

“Good! I am king — I am free of my night- 
mare!” said he, in a stronger voice. “You are 
captain, Vitry !” 

Then, bending over the dead body, stretched 
on its back by the last spasm, he added, with- 
out looking up: 

“Who got in the first blow?” 

Vitry had already received his reward; he 
generously unscreened St. Megrin, and said: 

“He is here, my lord!” 

Some one had lighted a torch in the outer 
rooms ; it was brought into the dorway. Henry 
recognized his favorite. 

He had,' thought him dead of his wounds. It 
was next to the same surprise, in degree, 
which he would have felt had Guise revived. 

“Paul Stuart? St. Megrin?” 

“Did I not promise your majesty that I would 
not spare him if we met hand to hand ?” said the 
gallant, proudly. 


By the King’s Command. 299 

“Yes, yes; but you bleed!” 

“Your grace, love must stanch the blood shed 
in this duel !” 

“Hem !” coughed the king, drawing away his 
eyes, still fascinated, from his enemy, his rival, 
his balked successor. “I think I guess — you 
are enamored with his lady?” 

The murderers had withdrawn so far from 
the two that Henry felt the awe of being alone 
with the dead. He took St. Megrin by the arm 
and led him toward the door. 

“He was alone ! he had not his brother with 
him ” 

“Mayenne?” 

“Yes! the other has danced with him!” 

The king had inscribed the Cardinal of Lor- 
raine’s name beside his brother’s on the death 
roll! Slay a prince of the church? How vin- 
dictive was this weakling when deeply moved ! 
The cardinal was also slain. 

But the king should not linger here. The 


3oo By the King’s Command. 

shots had aroused not only all in. the place, but 
many in the town. 

A few of Guise’s adherents in the castle talked 
of rescue and then of vengeance. But at the 
words uttered by officials, right and left : “The 
king’s will is done!” all objection ceased. But 
no one laid down to sleep that morning. 

As for Mayenne, he had fled to his governor- 
ship of Burgundy, where he raised all his forces 
to avenge the double homicide. 

In vain did the upholders of Valois main- 
tain that it was a private duel in which the 
Prince of Lorraine fell; history ignores the 
chronicle and calls it assassination. The blood 
spot is still shown in the castle. 

When Jacques Clement murdered Henry III. 
to the applause of the Parisians, whose idol the 
Great Guise had been, in summer, 1589, people 
called it the answering stroke of heavenly judg- 
ment. 

That timely poet, the street songmaker, went 
down into the crossings and recited: 


By the King’s Command. 301 

“Worst of the Valois’ useless strain, 

Broken in health, mind, reign and word, 

By a pig-sticker’s knife was slain, 

Because not worthy of the hangman’s sword!” 

St. Megrin, like Crillon, went over to his 
legitimate successor, Henry IV., and accompa- 
nied both in their glorious actions. 

At the victory of Coutras, he saw the two 
brothers Joyeuse slain in a heroic charge. And, 
after the action, when the vanquishers feasted 
in the great hall of Coutras Castle and the dead 
lay in the vaults, mocked by the drunken sol- 
diers, he heard with a warming heart, King 
Henry say: 

“This is the time for tears — some for the 
brave vanquished!” 

Epernon went over to the Protestant chief, 
when he recanted, and was in the coach when 
he was assassinated by Ravaillac. Accused of 
having acquiesced in this tragedy, he lived long 
to repent — if guilty. 

The aging queen-mother, having lost three 
sons — kings — by death, and a fourth who just 


302 By the King’s Command. 

missed the crown by a mysterious fate, “not 
wholly free from suspicion of poison,” says the 
recorder, passed away during the religious 
strife, on the same scene as witnessed Guise’s 
death — in Blois Castle — utterly unlamented, in 
1589. 

Ruggieri? He passed away as became a gen- 
uine magician. During the Paris siege, King 
Henry IV.’s light horse charged into the town 
and upon Soissons House, where, foiled in their 
attempt to capture the poisoner of Queen Joan 
of Navarre, they set fire to his laboratory. 
Shrieks were heard in the flames; some said 
that they came from “his bottled spirits” ; others 
from the wizard, caught in a hiding-place. But 
the wiseacres asserted, when his dreaded name 
was mentioned, that he had slipped away, and, 
with his tainted funds, bought a nook in his own 
country, where he posed as a patriarch amid 
a bevy of grandchildren ; it was they who, profit- 
ing by his recipes, gained a great renown as 
pyrotechnists. 


By the King’s Command. 303 

Disgusted with politics, of which the knots 
were cut by the knife, St. Megrin, whose duke- 
dom had been confirmed by the fourth Henry, 
was so appalled by twice losing his royal mas- 
ters by the same death, that he retired with his 
duchess to her own paternal estates on the 
Rhine. But, unfortunately, at the death of her 
father the whole of that region was rent by war, 
religious, local and imperial, and he departed 
into Italy, where he passed his declining years 
with his wife, sympathetic in the pursuit of let- 
ters and collecting paintings and ancient art. 

The fate of Bussy the Brave, is detailed in the 
“Lady of Monsoreau.” 

So passed the last and the best of the king’s 
gallants. 

1 

THE END. 


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120 pages. Cloth binding. 75c. 

Here are vivid pages from the everyday lives of fascinating 
women before and behind the foot-lights. The yarns are dainty, 
sometimes humorously pathetic, sometimes uproariously funny, but 
always delightful. “One begins the book with a smile, and puts it 
away with a number one size laugh, and a feeling that it has been 
worth while to cultivate the acquaintance of Billy Burgundy’s slang 
of the Rialto.” 

(c s) Any volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of price 

STREET' & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, & & & NEW YORK 


Works by Amedee achard 

This author is not as familiar to American and English readers as 
the merit of his work would warrant, but it is a positive pleasure to 
exploit the writings of one so well equipped for a foremost position in 
the school of which Alexandre Dumas, Theophile Gautier and Stanley 
J. Weyman are the accepted standards. Mons. Achard’s works are 
popular favorites with the French people, and the excellent trans- 
lations of his best novels which we are presenting to the public in 
moderate-priced editions cannot fail to please and satisfy all lovers 
of “The Three Musketeers,” and works of like tenor. 

Belle Rose — A Romance of the Cloak and Sword. 
Translated by William Hale, with a biography of 
the author. Five full -page illustrations. i2mo, 
368 pages. Cloth binding. $1.25 

“Belle-Rose” is a romance in which the hero undertakes and con- 
quers all manner of difficulties for the love of a woman. The author 
tnrows the glamour of love and war over all, introducing such cele- 
brated characters in history as to give it an air of reality. 

The Dragoons of La Guerche — A Sequel to “The 
Huguenot’s Love.” Translated by Richard Duffy. 
Five full-page illustrations. i2mo, 358 pages. 
Cloth binding. $1.25 

Although “The Huguenot’s Love” is so complete and fascinating a 
story in itself, the sequel is bound to prove a still greater satisfaction 
to the reader. In “The Dragoons of La Guerche” we find the two 
heroes of the former tale riding at the head of their band of cavalry 
through the most hostile territory of Europe in the quest of the two 
fair women they loved. 

The Sword of a Gascon* Translated by William 
Hale. Five full-page illustrations. i2mo, 289 pages. 
Cloth binding. $1.25 

This story of the reign of Louis XIV. is a typical “romance of the 
cloak and sword.” The Gascon hero is bold and daring, like all those 
of his race. He is an accomplished swordsman, a gallant cavalier, 
who pays court to an inn-keeper’s daughter or the niece of g a cardinal 
with equal grace and equal success. 

The Huguenot's Love* Translated by Richard Duffy. 
Five full-page illustrations. i2mo, 333 pages. Cloth 
binding. $1.25 

In this volume the gifted author gives a splendid picture of the 
religious strife which paralyzed all Europe in the middle of the 
seventeenth century. The two main characters are in religion ene- 
mies, but personally the dearest of friends. They are valiant French- 
men, who under the standard of Gustavus Adolphus, engaged in the 
immortal Thirty Years’ War. Their sweethearts follow them in their 
expedition and incur some marvelous adventures. 

(c 1) Any volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of price 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, & & & NEW YORK 


Works by Henry Harland 

Mrs* Peixada. i2mo, 317 pages. Cloth binding. 75c. 

The hero, a young lawyer whose first case is the tracking of Mrs. 
Peixada, a charming woman of about twenty -three summers, accused 
of shooting her husband. The plot is as peculiar as that of “As It 
Was Written.” The denouement is a thorough surprise 

Mademoiselle Miss, and other stories. 1 2mo, 1 92 pages° 
Cloth binding. 75c. 

The title-story of the present volume, as well as those which follow 
it, shows the same clear insight into character, the same strength and 
delicacy of description, and the same faculty of individualizing the 
personages of the narrative, as are manifest in Mr. Harland’s previous 
work. 

Mea Culpa — A Woman’s Last Word. i2mo, 347 pages. 
Cloth binding. . 75c. 

To save her father, a woman marries a European prince. It is a 
loveless marriage and the life is a bitter one. A former lover appears ; 
there is a duel ; the prince dies. Then, instead of marriage bells, there 
is the sadness of farewell. The lover feels himself a murderer and 
takes his own life in an agony of despair. 

The Yoke of the Thorah. i2mo, 320 pages. Cloth 
binding. 75c. 

Two lovers were to be married in the spring. That one was a Jew 
and the other a Christian didn’t seem to matter. But the God of 
Israel intervenes through a venerable rabbi, and a struggle begins 
between hope and doubt. The story is taken up with the attempts of 
the lovers to come together and the plans of the elders to keep them 
separate. 

As it Was Written — A Jewish Musician’s Story. 1 2mo, 
252 pages. Cloth binding. 75c. 

“As It Was Written ” is the confession of a man who, under peculiar 
circumstances, murders the woman he loves and then gives himself 
up to the punishment that the terrible crime demands. 

Grandison Mather — An account of the fortunes of Mr. 
and Mrs. Thomas Gardner. i2mo, 338 pages. Cloth 
binding. 75c. 

The opening chapter gives a sunny picture of Tom’s vacation in 
Paris, after finishing his college course, and his courtship of “Mrs. 
Tom.” After many experiences Tom writes a successful novel and 
makes some money. The story is a simple every-day one throughout 
and is charmingly told. It is full of graphic pictures of New York life. 

A Latin-Quarter Courtship, and other stories. i2mo, 
269 pages. Cloth binding. 75c. 

Tlzz first story covers 190 pages, and is a charmingly told tale of 
life and love in Paris, in which the actors are an American woman 
doctor, her friend a young French girl, ana an American author. The 
two latter, of course, fall in love with each other. 

(c 5) Any volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of price 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, & S NEW YORK 


THE SEASHORE AND 

MOUNTAIN SERIES 


A NEW SERIES OF I2MO 

Handsomely bound in cloth, stamped in colors 
Price, per volume. Fifty Cents 

Averil Rosa Nouchette Carey 

Bam Wildfire Helen B* Mathers 

Black Rock Ralph Connor 

Beatrice H* Rider Haggard 

Bondman, The Hall Caine 

Black Carnation, The Fergus Hume 

Cardinal Sin, A Hugh Conway 

Consequences Egerton Castle 

Cruise of the Cachelot, The- Frank T* BuIIen 

Dead Secret, The Wilkie Collins 

Dif ficult Matter, A Mrs* Emily Lovett Cameron 

Doctor Jack St* George Rathborne 

Dugdale Millions, The Barclay North 

Facing the Footlights Florence Marryat 

Fatal Silence, A Florence Marryat 

Fever of Life, The Fergus Hume 

First Violin, The Jessie Fothergill 

Frozen Pirate, The W. Clark Russell 

Gentleman from Gascony, A . Bicknell Dudley 
Heaps of Money W* E* Norris 


(c 9) Any volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of price 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, j* # NEW YORK 


THE SEASHORE AND 
MOUNTAIN SERIES 


A NEW SERIES OF 12MO 
Handsomely bound in cloth, stamped in colors 
Price, per volume. Fifty Cents 


Heir of Linne, The Robert Buchanan 

Her Faithful Knight Gertrude Warden 

His Word of Honor E. Werner 

In the Golden Days Edna Lyall 

In the Roar of the Sea S. Baring Gould 

In Strange Company Guy Boothby 

Kidnapped Robert Louis Stevenson 

Little Cuban Rebel, The Edna Winfield 

Living or Dead Hugh Conway 

Lorna Doone R. D. Blackmore 

Lucky Young Woman, A F. G Philips 

Man in Possession "Rita" 

Master of Ballantrae, The- . • .Robert Louis Stevenson 

Master of the Mine, The Robert Buchanan 

Miss Kate "Rita" 

Mr* Meeson's Will H. Rider Haggard 

Nobler Sex, The Florence Marryat 

Of the World, Worldly Mrs. Forrester 

Perilous Secret, A Charles Reade 

Price He Paid, The E. Werner 


(c io> Any volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of price 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, j* NEW YORK 


THE SEASHORE AND 
MOUNTAIN SERIES 


A NEW SERIES OF 12mo 

Handsomely bound in cloth, stamped in colors 
Price, per volume. Fifty Cents 


Ralph Ryder of Brent Florence Warden 

She Fell in Love With Her 

Husband E. Werner 

Should She Have Left Him?. .Barclay North 

Splendid Spur, The “Q” A* T. Quiller Couch 

Stormy Wedding, A Mary E. Bryan 

That Beautiful Wretch William Black 

Thelma Marie Corelli 

Those Girls John Strange Winter 

Treasure Island Robert Louis Stevenson 

True To Herself Mrs. J. H. Walforth 

Uncle Tom's Cabin Harriet Beecher Stowe 

Under Two Flags “Ouida" 

Wedding Ring, The Robert Buchanan 

Wee Wifie Rosa Nouchette Carey 

White Company, The A. Conan Doyle 

We Two Edna Lyall 

Won by Waiting Edna Lyall 

Wormwood Marie Corelli 

Yale Man, A Robert Lee Tyler 

Young Mrs. Jardine Miss Mulock 

(c 1 1) Any volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of price 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, j* * jt NEW YORK 


The Rockspur Athletic Series 

By GILBERT PATTEN 

The series consists of three books, each being a good clean story of 
athletic training, sports and contests, such as interest every healthy, 
growing boy of to-day. 

While aiming to avoid the extravagant and sensational, the stories 
contain enough thrilling incidents to please the lad who loves action 
and adventure. From the beginning, The Boys of Rockspur work step 
by step toward the grand consummation of their desires, the building 
and fitting of a club house and gymnasium, a result that is finally 
accomplished; but, in the meantime, they have many trials, jeal- 
ousies, heartburnings and defeats, enemies and traitors in their own 
ranks, making the struggle harder and the victory sweeter. The 
description of their Baseball and Football Games and other contests 
with rival clubs and teams make very exciting and absorbing reading ; 
and few boys with warm blood in their veins, having once begun the 
perusal of one of these books, will willingly lay it down till it is 
finished. 

\ — The Rockspur Nine* A story of Baseball. 

2 — The Rockspur Eleven* A Story of Football. 

3 — The Rockspur Rivals* A Story of Winter Sports. 
Each volume contains about 300 pages, i2mo in 

size, cloth binding, per volume, $1.00 


THE FRANK MERRIWELL SERIES 

BY BURT L. STANDISH 

For a great number of years Frank Merriwell has been a name to 
conjure with among the boys of America. Frank, with his chums, 
has been deservedly popular, but his adventures and achievements 
have never before been published in book form. It was in response 
to a clamorous demand for the Frank Merriwell stories in this form 
that this series was prepared. These are unique among boys’ books ; 
indeed, so filled are they with incident and action of every kind that 
it would be impossible to give here any adequate idea of what they 
contain. Frank Merriwell was no ordinary boy, and it falls to the lot 
of very few fellows to have as much fun and strenuousness crowded 
into his school life as will be found in this all-absorbing history. 

The first titles in the series are : 

Frank Merriwell's School Days* Illustrated. i2mo, 
302 pages. Cloth binding. $1.00 

Frank MemwelPs Chums* Illustrated. i2mo, 302 pages. 
Cloth binding. (In press.) • $1.00 

c e> Any volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of price 

STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, J* NEW YORK 


The Boys' Own Library 

Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, 75 cents per Volume 

This series contains the best boys’ books written by the best authors 
for boys. It is pre-eminently a library for young- people. Th,e stories are 
of the bright and sparkling kind, full of adventure and not overburdened 
with lengthy descriptions — in fact, just the sort that must appeal to every 
healthy boy who is fond of thrilling exploits and deeds of heroism. 

Adventures of a Telegraph Boy. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Arthur Helmuth. Edward S. Ellis 

Battle and a Boy. Blanche Willis Howard 

Boy Boomers. Gilbert Patten 

Boy Cattle King. Gilbert Patten 

Boy From the West. Gilbert Patten 

Boys in the Forecastle. George H. Coomer 

Butcher of Cawnpore. Wm. Murray Gray don 

Cadet Kit Carey. Lieut. Lounsberry 

Captain Carey. Lieut. Lounsberry 

Centreboard Jim. Henry Harrison Lewis 

Chased Through Norway. James Otis 

Check Number 2134. Edward S. Ellis 

Commodore Junk. George Manville Fenn 

Cruise of the Snowbird. Gordon Stables 

Cryptogram. William Murray Graydon 

Catmur's Cave. Richard Dowling 

Dean Dunham. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Dick Chiverly. W. H. G. Kingston 
Dingo Boys. George Manville Fenn 
Don Kirk's Mine. Gilbert Patten 
Ensign Merrill. Henry Harrison Lewis 
Eric Dane. Matthew White, Jr. 

Erie Train Boy. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Five Hundred Dollar Check. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

From Canal Boy to President. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

From Farm Boy to Senator. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

From Lake to Wilderness. William Murray Graydon 
(c 2) Any volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of price 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, # Jt NEW YORK 


The Boys' Own Library 

Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume 

From Powder Monkey to Admiral. W. H. G. Kingston 

From Tent to White House. Edward S. Ellis 

Gay Dashleigh's Academy Days. Arthur Sewell 

Giant Islanders. Brooks McCormick 

Gold of Flat Top Mountain. Frank H. Converse 

Golden Magnet. George Manville Fenn 

Golden Rock. Edward S. Ellis 

Grand Chaco. George Manville Fenn 

Guy Hammersley. Matthew White, Jr. 

Happy-Go-Lucky Jack. Frank H. Converse 

Heir to a Million. Frank H. Converse 

How He Won. Brooks McCormick 

In Barracks and Wigwam. William Murray Graydon 

Inland Waterways. James Otis 

In Search of an Unknown Race. Frank H. Converse 

In Southern Seas. Frank H. Converse 

In the Sunk Lands. Walter F. Bruns 

James Braithwaite. W. H. G. Kingston 

Joe Nichols. Alfred Oldfellow 

Jud and Joe. Gilbert Patten 

Kit Carey's Protege. Lieut. Lounsberry. 

Land of Mystery. Edward S. Ellis 
Lieut. Carey's Luck. Lieut. Lounsberry 
Mark Stanton. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Midshipman Merrill. Henry Harrison Lewis 
My Mysterious Fortune. Matthew White, Jr. 

Mystery of a Diamond. Frank H. Converse 
N ature's Young Noblemen. Brooks McCormick 
Ned Newton. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

New York Boy. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

(c 3) Any volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of price 
STREET & SMITH. PUBLISHERS, * S S NEW YORK 





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